The Pleasing History of Albino and Bellama

When British Isles--begirt with moist'ned sand,
Neptune's blue palace, and the Triton's walk--
Albania hight, her name who first did land
Of all the sisters, or from rocks of chalk;
From sad oppression had unyok'd their necks,
And paid obedience unto Adell's becks,

Then, in those halcyon days of peace and joy,
A virtuous lady, most transcendent creature,
Fairer than her whose beauty cinder'd Troy--
Grace deck'd her mind, her mind grace['d] her feature;
So that each part made Helen out of date,
And every grace a goddess could create.

Virtue and beauty both in her did strive
Which should in worth and grace surpass the other,
Nor age of consistency, both did thrive
Till this Dian' out-ray'd that Cupid's mother.
Nay men, by beams of her clear beauty, might
Scale Titan's chariot, and out-ray his light.

'Mongst Nature's precious things we find a gem,
Blushèd and purpled o'er with amethysts,
Which fiery carbuncles with sparkles hem,
And which the em'ralds purest vert entwists,
Meeting so well that lapidaries wist
'Twas em'rald, carbuncle, and amethyst.

So in this precious pair, pure Agathite,
Aurora's purpling blush was clearly seen,
Saba's bright rose, and Leda's swan-like white,--
The true proportion of Adonis' queen--
Blended so well, that in this curious frame
Aurora, Saba, Leda, Venus came.

And as the honey-making waxen-thigh'd
Inhabitants of Hybla's fragrant vales,
Whom only Nature's dim instinct does guide,
Choose their commander with their tuneful hails,
Pay homage, honour him, and fear his frowns,
With same observance as the people crowns,--

So, by the same instinct, the blushing rose
Vèil'd bonnet to her cheeks admirèd red,
The lilies to her bosom, brow, and nose,
The Phoenix stripp'd herself to crown her head,
The chirping choristers with willing choice
Sat silent to admire her warbling voice.

Perfum'd Arabia with her spice and gums
Paid homage to the odours of her lips;
To her with fawning postures, licks, and hums
The yellow lion and the tiger skips;
Fire dares not scorch her face, nor winter chill her,
And death himself looked pale when called to kill her.

The amorous Sun, if she walk'd out by day,
Would rein his jennets to behold her face;
And, wrapt in admiration, by his stay
Had rather melt the orbs than mend his pace;
And if the middle air in walls of jet
Enjail'd his beams, he thawèd into wet.

If in the reign of silent night abroad
She rang'd, the Empress of the lowest sphere,
Amazed at her perfections, left her road,
And rang'd about where she appeared t' appear;
Nay, mourned in darkness if denied her sight,
As when day's henchman does deny her light.

The curlèd tapers of the firmament
Did cease to twink, but gazed with fixèd eyes,
In their own orb refusing to be pent,
And strove to leap upon the lower skies;
Nay, did o' th' second air like comets hang,
To dart their crisps at beauty's only spang.

The sea-born planet poppèd out her lamp,
And t' see herself outshin'd by her, did rage;
The marching war-god did remove his camp,
With [this] fair lady curtain-war to wage;
Hermes by Jove being of an errand sent
Stay'd on her face, in her embraces pent.

Dull-agèd Saturn (on whose sullen brow
Ne'er dwelt a smile since Jove usurp'd his crown)
To gaze on her his weighty head did bow,
And with a smile unplaited every frown:
Nay, Jove himself descended from his chair
To take a full survey of this--this fair.

And more, her winning looks dispersed such charms,
All eyes commanding and all hearts surprising,
That Venus bade her son provide him arms,
Fearing his setting by this bright star's rising:
For, though men say Love's eyes are more than dim,
Yet her fair beauty did enlighten him.

But with entreaties he had beat the air,
And on the tawny moor his waters cast,
For having pow'r to conquer, being fair,
Sh'ad pow'r not to be conquer'd, being chaste;
So that his amorous sleights and wingèd arrow
Could not have oped her breast or pierced her marrow.

This Phoenix was Bellama called (a word
Well suiting her deserts), she daughter was
And heir-apparent to a wealthy lord,
Who had more acres than an acre grass:
He loved his lands, and hugged his minted treasure,
Yet his Bellama was his soul of pleasure.

His place of residence was in a chase
Chequered with thick-grown thorns and sturdy oaks,
Wherein majestic stags and bucks did pace
That scorned the hounds, and dared the barbèd strokes;
'Twas called Rivelount, not distant far
From Starley, of that shire the metro-star.

The neighbouring swains were palled with coaches' thunder,
And loud curvettings of their foaming steeds,
Whose ironed hoofs did crash the rocks in sunder;
Happy was he, who (sheathed in costly weeds)
Could win admission to this happy place,
Where Nature's wealth was locked up in a face.

Each glance she sent the object did engem,
And he that won a smile possessed a mine;
A hair was prizèd at a diadem,
A ribbon made the[m] tread the ecliptic line;
A ring outface a thunder, but a kiss
Was the elixir, heart, and soul of bliss.

Some of their lands, some of their valours spoke,
Some, of their falcons and their merry bells;
Some read the price of such a suit and cloak,
And one of hounds and running horses tells;
All speak of something, yet but few with wit,
All aimed at wise, yet few could purchase it.

Some spake in oaths, as if they thought the earth
Was peopled o'er with faithless infidels;
Another swore, because he feared a dearth
Of other language, yet in oaths excels:
All swear enough, and he that did it least
Might be grand swearer at Ven-Bacchus feast.

Others there were that could not bigly prate,
Who did their evidences bring with them;
One brought his halls to plead, one his estate,
This brought a watch to court, and that a gem;
One brought a large descent [in] white and black,
Which [he] derivèd from old Pergam's sack.

One brought a reverent sire, whom he called father,
To be the tongue of his reservèd son;
Others with much expense of wax did gather
Some printed rimes to speak when they were gone:
All had their speakers which unclasped their graces,
Yet their court-language dwelt on plaits and places.

One of these suitors was approved to be
A match whose thousands equi-balanced hers;
The parents oft would say, 'This shall be he,'
The mother then a bill of love prefers:
But still Bellama faults, and vows that gold
Shall never force her love to have and hold.

The testy father, with a furrowed brow,
Comes to Bellama with demanding why?
Says 'Mine own girl, thou must be rulèd now,
Each knee pays duty to Don Fuco's eye:
And age well knows bean-manors, lands, and treasures
Do cement lovers' hearts, and enjoy their pleasures.

Thou must not, wench, be coy. Alas! we find
Beauty as easily bought when money bids
(Though 't be i' th' nonsuch of the female kind),
As horse or cow, the lamb, or frisking kids:
If he be rich we bear his witless brags,
A wealthy fool's more worth than witty rags.'

Bellama, with a look fraught with disdain,
(Though hatred did not make her anger bold)
Says 'Sir, I'm sorry you do entertain
Such high conceits of folly hemmed with gold:
Think you no marriage good if equal lands
Be not matchmakers and do join their hands?

Don Fuco has ten thousand pounds a year,
With weighty titles would o'erload a mule,
A piece of arras finely wrought and dear;
But does he square his life to virtue's rule?
With vice as wealth, to countless sums he thrives,
But is, in virtue, full as poor as wives.

He knows to steer an horse and hollo hounds,
But not to guide his actions, less his tongue;
He speaks in state, but ev'ry sentence sounds
Of comic fragments or some tavern song.
And shall I him, hail'd by unworthy pelf,
Take to rule me, who cannot rule himself?

Shall I see other female vessels thrive
With mine own nectar, and they fee'd with money,
Whilst I like careful bee do keep my hive,
And work the comb for them to suck the honey?
No, I'll no sharers have in my delight,
I'll have it one and only, else good night.

'Tis a fine thing to see a satin paint
That fears to lose her beauty in a press,
That only cares to be precisely quaint,
And spends a twelvemonth's pleasure on a dress:
To see this stroke his honour, and he clip her,
Span ev'ry part, and unresisted lip her.

But I do not in a rank humour rail
'Gainst sober purples, and discreeter robes,
Nor lock up virtues in the paper-jail
With ink-horns, pens, spheres, globes, and Albo-globes.
Religion on my heart does love enneal
To those bright tapers of our commonweal.

Yet where, instead of state, proud looks do dwell,
Where wit and wisdom are unlocked with oaths,
Courtship and comeliness are in the shell,
And honour only sits upon the clothes.
Pardon, if unto such I plait my brow,
And steer my thought unto a virgin-vow.'

'Fie,' says the father, 'you're a foolish girl
'Gainst ermines with that height'ned spleen to rail;
Dost think there's vice and folly in an earl?
Then virtue sure does penance in the jail.
To kiss and sport with us is held no sin
If that our dalliance do not pass the skin.

Perchance 'tis not a point of state to have
Too large a stock of wisdom in this age,
The epithet to greatness is not grave;
Those that the Muses in their cells encage,
Let them speak oil and civet; but we are lords,
Can speak by signs, and not expressed by words.

Wherefore do we to Sable give the room,
And greater numbers far of Adel's stamps
Than to our steward or our lady's groom;
'Cause with reproofs he our choice pleasures damps?
No, 'cause in dedications he should name us,
And by some witty pamphlet make us famous.

Our moral virtues are no guiding rule
To high nobility, or looking-glass,
No more than t' earth the ne plus ultra's Thule,
As 'fore America was found, it was.
'Tis fit for those whose bosom-friends are lice,
To know the pain, not sweet delights, of vice.

Dost see yon tender webs Arachne spins,
Through which with ease the lusty bumbles break,
But to the feeble gnats that mesh their gins?
So those sage precepts, which our Sophies speak,
Fetter the passions of each worthless slave;
But over us no sovereign awe they have.'

'My lord, the name of father strikes,' quoth she,
'An awful dread, and makes my ear obey;
Yet slip my duty down unto the knee,
And in my silent thoughts check, chide, and say,
"Can they that taste forbidden waters thrive?"
My chaste demeanour I will ne'er survive.

T' avoid the doom of--therefore I'll make choice
Of one whose virtue outs all love to vice,
Not those sleek skins which am'rous are in voice,
Lip-love which, as soon born, dies in a trice.
Our loves reciprocal shall be still dust,
Which into exile packs unlawful lust.'

As they discours'd Don Fuco entered in,
With stately garbs befitting such a one,
His body shellèd in a satin skin
Of azure dye, bestarred with topaz stone,
A milk-white beaver, with an ostrich plume,
His very rowels spake a loud perfume.

Having composed his hingèd looks, he glanced
With piercing eyes upon her curious face,
And, steeping sighs in tears and sweat, advanced
Himself to plead with courtly garb and grace.
But Fucus, led by most mimetic apes,
Could not depinge Don Fuco's antic shapes.

Such were the postures of his hands and eye,
That had he treasured up his mirthful tones,
They were ingredients for a comedy,
Would into laughter change a widow's groans:
And since that time (Bellama smiled so then)
Love in her dimpled cheeks has found a den.

'Madam,' says he, 'be pleased to trutinate
And wisely weigh your servant's graceful voice;
Give due attendance to the airs of state;
I have engraven you Don Fuco's choice.
Give free assent, and let the scornful "No!"
Be quite expungèd from the criss-cross-row.

Alas, I'm not beholding unto letters,
Wherewith our rabbis stuff their swelling books.
I have a way of complimenting better,
To win thy love with comely garbs and looks.
And, if these fail, the name of countess will
Speak with a power above the Sidney-skill.

I hate long-winded sentences, which do
Unbreath a man, and hazard much his bellows,
Or pocket-flashes which instruct to woo--
The only virtues of some inkhorn fellows--
I scorn their troths, indods, their ifs or ands,
Or their O Lord, sir, when their wit's o' th' sands.

A fluent rascal that can speak in oil,
And clothe his words with silken eloquence,
I know may give a virgin strength the foil.
But a blunt earl that scarcely speaks in sense,
Whom thousands honour with the cap and leg,
Beats down a fortress like a roaring Meg.

He needs no Roscian language, but does send
His velvet-coated herald to proclaim
The noble titles which his worth attend:
For honour is th' ambitious lady's aim.
Feature and spicèd words but lead the van,
Honour the front, the noble is the man.'

'My lord,' says she, 'your valour I approve,
That with three selves thus warranteth your suit,
With self-conceit, self-confidence, self-love:
Such trees will bear your lordship glorious fruit,
It well befits your greatness not to think
There can denials dwell in air or ink.

Your trencher-cloaks, and your recognizance,
Your coat of arms with noble ermines dight,
Your russian satin, with the cut of France,
Your talking rowels, and your feath'red white,
Are batt'ring rams and guns that speak in thunder,
To crack a breast, and split a heart in sunder.

But my mind is Diana's chastest seat,
O'er which the breath of greatness hath no power;
The quiver-bearing boy sounds a retreat,
And Jove avails not with his yellow shower,
The vestal fire outshines blind Cupid's flame
Which oft's eclipsed with sorrow damped with shame.

And, troth, my lord, had I but wit enough
T' assist your lordship in your nuptial tede,
Your lordship should not play at blind man's blough
(Else heavens should renounce their Ganymede):
For they that purblind are may plainly see
You grossly hoodwinked are in courting me.

The faults of state I cannot virtues name,
And bear myself upon the wings of pride,
Nor light my taper at another's flame,
Or use the art at beauty's eventide.
I brook not dalliance, or the Venus kiss,
That way of am'rousness, or that, or this.

I cannot seal a welcome with an oath
To those whose absence I had rather have;
Nor venture hundreds at that paper-sloth
Of mistress Is'bel and the Pennell-knave.
I know no masking postures, nor with grace
Can tread the brawls, or true coranto pace.

I cannot at the feast of riot sit,
When sea, land, air, are served up in plate;
Nor like Tripherus with a carving wit
Read precepts this and this to dissecate.
Nor in dear murrhine, chargèd to the brim,
Health it about until our mullets swim.

I do not love to have my husband be
Discreet by proxies, by his chaplains wise;
Nor do I like the too much cringing knee,
Whose formal bends his black conceits disguise.
Those fawning sharks I cannot call to table,
Which into ermines change your lordship's sable

To have my usher press his master's saddle,
In my opinion cannot pass for good;
I do not love to have my pillow addle,
Meanwhile my woman lets your lordship blood.
I am no Androgyne, nor do delight
To diet pages, or your Catamite.'

'Madam, what passion does untune your mind?
What fiend' (says he) 'in you thus rails on greatness?
Who viceth honour, lies, and he is blind
That says court-satins are not trimmed with neatness.
Speak then in balms, forget the peevish why,
And to the "Wilt thou have this"--Answer "Ay".'

'No, no,' says she, 'yet might I know your saint,
If my endeavours can advantage you,
With your endowments I would her acquaint,
And limn your rare perfections in her view:
In this one act I may myself approve
More loving, than in entertaining love.

I'll say with what dexterity you can
Run o'er the postures of the court-salute,
How trimly you can kiss a lady's fan,
And neatly manage an embroid'red suit;
How finely Spanish leg-shells you can plait,
And tune your rowels at the court retrait.

I might say you are witty, if't be true
That jests and jingles are in brotherhood,
I'll speak your skill in hawks, at flight, in mew,
And at all hunting ceremonies good;
How gracefully you wave your gallant plumes,
And deeply are engaged to deep perfumes.

How kind you are unto our chamber-shes,
How to our marmosets and trencher-pages,
How oily-fingered unto supple knees,
How fain to th' music of our wire cages.
How quaintly you supply the usher's room,
How sweetly you can act the privy-groom.

Much more in blazoning your matchless worth,
And counting all your specials, might I say--
But nature ne'er a second did bring forth,
Which to such known perfections can say nay.
I'll cease to praise them, lest my praises make
Your veins of pride with self-conceit to ache.

I will perform what I have promis'd, sir,
Please you t' impart your lady to my maid,
I see my words your liver-wort does stir
Into your face, which in your channels strayed.
No more of trouble then, my lord, adieu;
This courteous door divorceth me and you.'

Away flings she, and leaves my lord alone,
More pensive than a widow which bedews
Her husband's corpse with tears, a woman's moan,
Or than the Lupa of diseasèd stews;
So that who saw his jigging head would swear
Wisdom nor wit did ne'er inhabit there.

Don Rivelezzo sent a smiling glance,
That they might his consent read in his eye;
But seeing Fuco in a stupid trance,
He was possessed with equal frenesy.
The mother came to th' rescue, and wellnigh
Sent her own wit to bear theirs company.

Fain would he tell the cause of his disasters,
And eagerly her parents strove to know it,
Yet, strangely, them this passion overmasters,
That neither they could ask, nor he could show it;
As though an Incubus with vap'rous throngs
Enclasped their bosoms and unvoiced their tongues.

At length Don Fuco cried, 'Bellama cruel,
What evil planet revelled at thy birth,
Or what incensèd god provided fuel
To make me feel hell's torture upon earth?
Was there no way to punish me for sin
But by a maid? No, there our woes begin.

When I with admiration view'd her face,
I boldly durst give any tongue the lie
That dared to say, with such supernal grace,
There dwelt one atom of this tyranny.
But--if that virgin's hieroglyphics be
Of love and mildness, take them all for me.

I'll make a casement with this steely blade
In my full breast, through which my soul shall peep,
And make my heart in sanguine liquor wade,
And entrails all in juice of liver steep.
Nay, straightway give hell's ferryman his pay
For wafting me o'er black Cocytus' Bay.

Or unto Proserpine I'll post a sprite,
To fetch m' a cup of moist oblivion,
Wherewith the Fairy Queen exilèd quite
Fury from her stout knight and Oberon,
That I not only may forget disgrace,
But quite forget I ever saw her face.'

'Let not', says Rivelez, 'a peevish girl
Hang fetters on your heart, untune your soul:
Dwells there not courage with a worthy earl,
Blind Cupids bow and quiver to control?
My lord, take heed, the squinting boy works treason,
By passions to divest your soul of reason.

He by his sly insinuations oft
A good opinion in the heart doth win:
The most obdurate are by him made soft
And homage pay to Love their sovereign sin,
Fires in, nor hurts, the flint; but Cupid can
With flames to cinders waste the flinty man.

A wily fisherman hath store of baits,
Wherewith for amorists he wisely angles,
With glitt'ring pomp he for th' ambitious waits,
The greedy carl with silver twists entangles;
The silk-lascivious with a wanton eye,
The austere stoic with a modest "fie!"

The studious Templant he with Ergo calls,
The grave precisian with a matron grace,
The virtuous mind with virtue he enthrals,
A landed heir with a blushed-lily face.
For Epicurean love he wisely trolls
With spiced rarities and frothing bowls.

The cross-adorers he with crossing catches,
Yet strange it is that crossing should join hands.
But, to Sir Love-all, all are equal matches,
Grace, beauty, feature, honour, virtue, lands.
This has a dainty hand; that, lip, or eye,
This chaste, that seeming, that will not deny.

None are love-free, unless uncapable
Of those choice blessings Venus' sole son proffers,
None, whom age, fortune, nature, does enable,
With peevish noes neglecteth Hymen's offers.
All are inclined to love, and all must bow,
If Cupid's arrow do but write "Love thou".

Invest your noble thoughts with courage, Don,
Let reason, maugre love, triumphant ride,
Millions of ladies breath in Albion,
Have more rose-lilies, and less store of pride.
I'll warrant, though Bellama now say "no",
She'll find, ere long, denial was her foe.'

'Ha!' quoth Don Fuco, with a far-fetched sigh,
Which all that time was drenched o'er-head in grief,
'Am I to black Cocytus yet drawn nigh?
Where are th' Elysian shades, thou tott'red thief?
Call Rhadamanthus forth, justice I'll have,
Or in his breast my steel shall dig a grave.

Call forth the Furies with their snaky hairs,
Pale-cheeked Erynnis and her sister hags,
Tell Nemesis I'll fetch her down the stairs,
And try what truth dwells in her wrathful brags.
Dispoison vipers, toads, and crawling adders,
And with their venom stretch her spacious bladders.

Bid Cerberus belch, from his triple jaws,
A barking thunder which the earth may shake:
I'll fetch the Dragon's and the Scorpion's paws
From the full zodiac, her face to rake.
Come forth, Demagoras, thy cunning try,
To mask all beauty with a leprosy.

We will no more our lily-stems transplant,
And set our roses on their cheeks and lips;
Their fairness shall not hence surpass the ante,
Their crimson dye the brick or writhled hips.
Beauty shall be exiled, despite shall end her,
Or else we'll change her to another gender.

The Thracian harper was a silly ass,
That for his wife passed through the Stygian stench,
The clubman's foolery did his surpass,
That spun and carded for a Lydian wench.
The Greeks were fools that for a light-skirt strumpet
Chang'd the still viol to a loud-mouth'd trumpet.

Jove's blacksmith was no privy counsellor,
To marry Venus for the forehead flag;
The jolly huntsman sure did something err
To see a goddess, and become a stag.
Jove was no golden show'r: sure 'twas a gull,
Nor e'er transform'd himself into a bull.'

'Peace, good my lord,' Don Rivelezzo says,
'What uncouth passion doth your soul entrance?
Your words are like the Bacchanalian lays,
Wherewith the priests their god of wine enhance.
What, man! though this fond she from you did start,
Another 'll say, "My lord, with all my heart."

Observe the practice of doves masculine,
Which woo their females, with "I come to woo",
Not in a fit of woman cry and whine,
Straight to another haste, if she says no.
If to one face our stock of love we ope,
We pinion Cupid's wings, and fetter hope.

Bellama slights, what then? shall we conclude,
All women will deny you their assent?
A strange induction: call all ladies lewd,
'Cause Flora and some few to Venice went?
Amongst a thousand maids, there's scarcely two,
As coy Bellama now hath done, will do.

Wherefore created were those glorious lights,
Which in the azure firmament appear?
Why was day's charioteer with lustre dight?
Only to gild with rays his proper sphere?
No, to lend brightness to the borrowing lamps,
And clear the earth from night's obscuring damps.

Why has Dame Nature so much brightness lent
To diamonds, topazes, and other gems?
Only t' enrich themselves? no, to augment
The glory of our rings and diadems.
The ostrich for himself wears not his plumes,
Nor for 's own nose the civet cat perfumes.

So, on our sprucest ladies, matchless graces
Were not bestowèd to delight themselves.
Pandora was not treasured up in faces,
To bring content unto possessing elves.
But 'cause our heroes should the comfort find
Of winning beauty and a willing mind.

The maid of Babylon, I know, was fair,
And rich in all the lineaments of beauty;
Yet was she kind, which did not them impair,
But showed to Nature's hests her forward duty.
For Nature's bounty best requited is,
By yielding free assent to Hymen's bliss.

The Queen of Carthage dear respects bestowed
Upon the straggling prince of ruined Troy.
Choice love unto Leander Hero showed:
The Cyprian goddess wooed her sappy boy.
All fraught with pity; but that peevish girl,
'Bout whose sleek waist hell's vipers wind and twirl.

Nor such examples wants our latest age,
Of virgin lovers these to parallel,
Who, every way, those former equipage,
With whom records and modern pamphlets swell.
Then courage, Don, fear not to find a face
That hath more pity, and more lovely grace.'

'Much ease' (quoth Fuco) 'to my lovesick heart,
My lord, is by your sage advisement brought.
For I supposed th' Idalian younker's dart
Had fest'red so, no easement could be bought,
I on her looked through such a pleasing glass,
As though that sex in her contracted was.

I thought t' have sent my physic-doctor forth
Unto his herbal, to address my ill;
T' ask Æsculapius for some earth-born worth,
Which might accomplish my intended will.
But that 'tis said Apollo once complained
No herb to cure love's fevers could be gained.

Whilst an opinion of her matchless grace
Scorchèd my bosom with affection's gleams,
Mine eyes ne'er straggled to another face,
Nor could I bathe my thoughts in Lethe's streams.
But now I'll sound retrait; reclaim my mind,
Not catch a falling star, nor grasp the wind.'

This said, with sparkling sack he wash'd the lane,
Which to the limbeck of his body leads--
Health to Bellama, and a health again,
Till, where his feet his wingèd beaver treads,
So well he took his sack without a toast.
That, 'stead of kissing her, he kiss'd the post.

Dispassioned quite, as in a breathless calm,
Don Rivelezzo bids Don Fuco 'dieu;
But hooted loudly, like a shrill-toned shawm,
When his swift steed took farewell of his view.
Accursing Fate, and railing on his daughter,
Which might beget in Heraclitus laughter.

'Have I', says he, 'such Crassian heaps of gold,
Condemned to sleep in iron-ribbèd chests?

Did I delight in vestments coarse and old,
Wherein Anthropophages have dug them nests?
Nay, wish'd there were no tavern-juice, or sports,
Or change of fashions, but in princes' courts?

Have I sat brooding o'er my treasured plate,
And summed the surplusage of each year's rent,
Confined my spendings to a weekly rate,
Enjoined a penance when th' allowance spent?
And when an earl tuned every grace to win her,
She slights his vows: nor gales nor gold can pin her!

But since she slights my matches, I will match her:
She shall of peevishness the harvest reap.
Since this Don's matchless fortunes could not catch her:
I shall ere long make her affections cheap.
Her love shall stoop to court a common farm,
A lordship then shall scorn to fold an arm.'

'My lord,' her mother, Lady Arda, said,
'A parent's ire ought not to force assent.
Wealth, blent with vice, can ne'er disheart a maid
To whom bless'd virtue is the choice content.
There's other things do maid's affections stir,
Beside a manor, and a "please you sir".'

'Madam' (quoth he), 'in vain you do excuse
Your daughter's folly with your friendly air,
The next I offer she shall not refuse.
Sirrah, go harness straight my wheeling chair,
I'll try if less content and pleasure dwells
In princes' courts than in monastic cells.'

When he was coached, the Lady Arda went
To fair Bellam', bedewed with streaming tears:
'The gods', said she, 'have ravelled thy content,
Sorrows uncomfort will thy virgin years:
For unto Darwey does thy father haste,
Where he will vow thee everlasting chaste.'

'Madam,' says she, 'I feed on naught but gall,
Aloes and rue, 'cause of my father's wrath.
Th' occasion though of his displeasure shall
With bays, instead of cypress, strew my path.
When virtue seals the contract, welcome Hymen,
But till that, ever shall my heart deny men.'

Thus sate they parling. Lady Arda urged,
Producing reasons to enforce assent.
Bellama answered, begged, excused, and purged
Herself from blame, by urging love, content.
But urging and excusing, let them sit,
And see the father champing on the bit;

Who, coming to the cage of virgin-pride,
Knocked at the wicket with the iron crow,
To whose small neck white fillets ne'er were tied.
Which in more ancient days did childbed show.
He rapped so hard, the sound did fright the air,
Yet still none came: none was not locked in prayer.

At length the janitor, of stature large,
With crozier-staff, girt in a hair-cloth frock,
Whose meagre looks did call for Charon's barge,
And all whose body was a sapless stock,
Came, and with churlish voice demanded who
With such shrill ho's rejoiced their civil croe.

'Friend,' says my lord, 'my errand wings my speed,
Speaks high importance with the prioress;
Thou, in these angel-looks, my haste mayst read;
Help me to th' presence of the abbatess.'
The porter's heart soon stepp'd into his eye,
Tuning his language to a quick reply.

'My lord,' says he, 'obedience is my duty,
Whilst your commands speak in so high a tone.
Yet, lest your smooth-chinn'd youths lay siege to beauty,
Your lordship, spite of state, must walk alone.
I am an eunuch; else in vain I vow'd,
I had mistook my pillow in a crowd.'

Him he conducted to the kitchen, where
Store of anatomies employed was;
Some did the candlesticks, some lavers clear,
Some scourèd pewter, some reburnished brass,
Don asks the cause; the porter him acquaints,
'Twas 'gainst a feast of high account, All Saints.

Within the hall a younger sort of girls,
Yet coarse enough, did brush vermilion looks.
Some crosses rubbed, some, ropes of praying pearls;
Some dusted vestments, some, their gilded books.
Some kneaded wafers: and his effige stamped,
Whose purple streams the dragon's sulphurs damped.

All at Don Rivelezzo were amazed,
And, looking, one rubbed off a nose of wax,
A second razed a cheek; another gazed
And plucked from Kath' her periwig of flax.
One blinded Serrat, and did rend her silk;
One broke the cruse, and spilt the virgin-milk.

Don passed through these into an inner room,
Where was another rank of virgin-fry,
Some weaving arras on the nimble loom,
And intertwisting gold with tapestry,
With silk of Naples twisted in small ropes;
Some did the cowls embroider, some the copes.

At last he came into an upper place,
Climbing thereto by richly gilded stairs,
Where sate another troop, of nobler race,
On quilted cushions, and in ivory chairs.
About the centre, in a robe of state,
The matron Vesta of the virgins sate.

These were employed about far nobler things,
For some of sainted hair did bracelets twine;
Others strung beads to stint the knees of kings;
Some trimmed with costly gems the Lady's shrine.
One tuned the music, and a witty other
Footed an Ave to the Virgin-mother.

The grave old matron, crawling from her throne
Of Indian teeth, arched o'er with cloth of gold,
Upon her aged knees with zealous tone
Says, 'Heaven's messenger, what is't you would?'
Th' amazed lord with wonder quarrelled long,
Ere he could unvoice his silenced tongue.

'Madam,' says he, 'why pay you reverence?
Why are you guilty of th' adoring sin?
'Tis a delusion of your weak'ned sense,
I am no Cherub, Pow'r, nor Seraphin.
The heralds style me Rivelezzo's Don,
Your friend and servant, with a cap and con--'

'My lord,' quoth she, 'excuse my fond mistake,
For o'er my sight I wear a duskish glass.
My zeal in pious actions sure did make
Me give you more respects than civil was.
But take your seat; and if my power or skill
Can crown your wishes, be you sure I will.'

'Madam,' says he, 'I have a scornful lass
Whom nature has enriched with special grace,
To whose perfections her reflecting glass
Is parasite, adds pride unto her face:
So that, though earldoms court her, her disdains
Nonsuits their service, and her brow unplains.

Into your number of chaste-zealous shes,
Entrance unto this girl vouchsafe, I pray,
Unto your order. I the constant fees
Of gold and acres, and of vows will pay.
Since she Don slighted, I have vowed to see
How long she'll honour the religious knee.'

Quoth she, 'Those virgins which my hallowed roof
Does canopy, my prudence does protect.
I make blind love and folly stand aloof,
And all love's paper-plots I do detect.
Great ones have oft assayed, but yet my care
Has buried their entreaties in the air.

With godly precepts I enrich their minds,
And make them (which is rare) at eighteen good.
I 'dmit no roisters; only maids and hinds
To do them service, and prepare us food.
Please you to send your daughter, she shall be
Crowned with delights of most transcendent glee.'

'Heavens', says Don, 'crown your ensuing days
With all delights which wait your holy orders,
May the sad cypress and the bridal bays
Ne'er sprig nor blossom in your quiet borders.
I'll plume my swift endeavours: I'll make haste
T' invest Bellama with your habits chaste.'

When Don's farewell had ceased to move the air,
Says Piazzella to her virgin train,
'We, with th' enjoyment of this lady fair,
Shall stuff our carcanets with mickle gain.
We'll frolic it, and taste the choicest pleasures,
Nor shall our joys be listed in with measures.

The credulous world we gull with silver shrines,
Our grave behaviours and retired lives,
When we in naked truth are libertines,
And taste the pillow joys of sprightful wives,
When through the vault our lusty shavelings pace,
All the choice measures of delight to chase.'

Thus leave them with their hair-lack crowns,
And see Rivelezzo now arrived at home,
Who by that time had plained his brow from frowns,
And all becalmed with sugarèd words doth come:
Then tells his lady he had found a tow'r,
Would guard Bellama from Jove's yellow show'r.

Servants are posted to the old Exchange,
Others to sellers of the silkworm's spoils,
Some to brisk Proteuses, smirk tailors, range,
Some to the stationers, some haste for oils.
One carves the image of a martyred saint,
Another breathes a soul with gold or paint.

None must be idle till, in marshalled ranks,
All things be ord'red for this virgin-vow.
Farewell ye spongy teats and puff'd-paste flanks,
Bellama's bridal tede is lighted now.
Her husband is Virginity, yet look,
Her beads for rings, for songs she'll change her book.

The coach is harnessèd, 'Bellama come',
The father says, 'hence with that dew of grief;
Give not a sad adieu unto our home,
But in thy thoughts let comfort rule as chief.'
She craved a blessing on her globe-like joints;
Then coachèd thither where her sire appoints.

As the sweet-voicèd Philomele does sit
I' th' pikèd eglantine, with sorrow dressed,
'Cause some rude sylvan in a raging fit
Snatched her faint chickens from their downy nest.
So did the lady Arda, dight with mourning,
Deplore Bellama's loss with her returning.

As when sly Reynald in his widenèd jaws
Is seizing on the nimbly-frisking lamb,
Or when the tiger, with his sharp'ned paws,
Hath caught the infant of the becking dam:
And then the shepherd's care prevents the sharks,
One loudly howls, the other hoarsely barks.

So, semblably, when as the waiting crew
Saw the departing of their golden age,
One gives Bellama, with eye-dew, adieu,
Another's grief unlocked the frenzy cage.
Some tore their hair, some rent their should'ring bands,
Some thwacked their breasts, and wrung their oily hands.

But all in vain, their Indian mine was gone,
Their minting house deprivèd of the stamp,
Their costly gems were changed to pebble stone,
Their hemisphere forsaken by their lamp:
Saturn's exiled, Jove awes this massy ball,
And now the iron age ungoldeth all.

The wand'ring wheels, bestud with iron knobs,
Posted Bellama to the virgin-tower,
Which freed her from the noise of servile throbs;
Is entertainèd like a goddy power,
Led by the seeming saints unto the place
Where sate Pazzella with a matron grace.

If Rivelezzo's presence frighted them,
Much more they at Bellama were amaz'd;
They called her Phoenix, beauty's only gem,
And all with fixèd tapers on her gazed:
Some had a mean, some curious were before,
But her first sight showed self-conceit the door.

For as when Tithon's bride breaks out afar,
And through th' expanse spreads forth her youngest light,
She, by degrees, pops out each twinkling star,
And dims at length the mistress of the night--
As winter chapel-clerks, when prayers are done,
Dis-light each flazing wax or tallow sun.

So, when Bellama brightly did appear,
With morning rays in the monastic hall,
She veiled each face that movèd in that sphere,
And further, by degrees unfacèd all.
Nay, at the last, the mistress of the train
Looked like pale Phoebe in her dark'ned wain.

And as day's prince, light lustre's archi-beam,
Lends to the moon her silver midnight rays;
As from the ocean wat'ry current stream
Though ev'ry cadent to that Chaos strays;
As to a room befogged with mists of night
Th' incensèd weeks do lend a midday light;

So to each brow Bellama's brow gives white;
To ev'ry cheek Bellama's cheek gave roses;
To ev'ry eye Bellama's eye gave sight;
To ev'ry breath Bellama's breath gave posies;
To ev'ry part Bellama's part gave grace;
To ev'ry face Bellama gave a face.

Some called her goddess of the Cyprian isle;
Some said Troy's ruin was untombed again;
Some her the self-enamoured boy did style;
Some said the boat-boy did delude their train.
One named her thus, one said she was another,
But all confessed sh' exceeded Cupid's mother.

The aged patroness with palsied lips
Mutt'red a welcome to her lovely guest;
But at that time the moon was in eclipse,
Which with enfeebling fears did them arrest.
Some shrilly screamed; some brazen pans did clang,
To ease her travail and abate her pang.

And when the monthly-hornèd queen had got
Her face again with silver glitter rayed,
Save only what the dragon's tail does spot,
On their pale lilies blushing claret strayed.
Then did the aged voice repeat again,
'Welcome, fair lady, to my maiden-train.'

Her instauration was somewhat strange.
Led by nine vestals (for th' odd number was
Highly esteemèd in their sacred range,
As by the poet in his quaffing glass),
Each of her jointed lilies one did hold,
Save only that which waits the wedding gold.

Adorned with vestures, white as bleachèd snow,
A cypress mantle over which was cast,
So lightly hung 'twould not abide a blow,
A milk-white ribbon locked unto her waist,
Graced with a crucifix: her slender wrists
With praying beads were wreathed on sable twists.

Grave Piazella ushered her along,
Bravely attended with her choicest nuns,
Without drum, trumpet, or an armèd throng,
Or champing coursers, or the wide-mouthed guns.
Each held religion in some holy right,
With holy water which the devils fright.

Into the place of holy worship they
Ent'red where gaudy superstition was,
Saints, altars, store of crucifixes gay,
Whose stately worths my weak expression pass.
Scarce was there known a canonizèd saint
Which carving did not there beget, or paint.

With strong devotion all the virgins prayed
At the direction of the praying bead,
Their Ave-Maries, Santo, Salve's said,
Invoking ev'ry saint to intercede.
Piezza then, Bellama kneeling down,
Did wreathe her temple with the virgin-crown.

These rites performed, behind an iron grate
Appearèd breathing cowls and walking copes,
Whose writhèd looks their births did antedate
And change the ciphers girdled in with ropes.
Their hair had purchas'd wings and flew away.
So did their brains, as some did whisp'ring say.

Unto this monast'ry in gloomy shades,
From Crostfull Priory these shavelings pace,
Distant from hence not two Italian stades.
Earth's bloodless womb was wimbled all the space.
Under the craggy rocks and champian did
A roadway lie, from vulgar prying hid.

This darksome path they usually did tread
To traffic with their she-sequest'red zeal,
With whom for curtain-dalliance oft they plead.
But their success my muse dares not en-neale.
These loving sportings are not faults: the sin
Is when our walls keep not the scandal in.

Amongst the holy men that hither came,
To join their issue with the sisterhood,
A votary, Albino call'd by name,
Not Fortune's white-boy, yet of abbey-blood.
His great-grandfather, some few ages since,
Of Glastonbury primate was, and prince.

His stature did not reach the tip-toe height,
Nor with the long-necked cranes did conflicts wage,
Something complete by nature not by sleight,
Some twenty circled snakes summed up his age;
Discreet as tiroes are, had store of wit,
In that he knew to use, and husband it.

By civil carriage, and his modest look,
He gained the love of his lord Priorist,
He bowlèd, coursèd, angled in the brook,
His pleasure was his joy and pleasures list.
Oft would he rove (had his content a dearth)
Through th' hollow belly of th' unbowelled earth.

Sometimes permitted, sometimes by command
From his Lord Prior to the holy mother.
Conveying voices, or the paper-hand
Oft-times alone, scarce sorted with another.
The matron did with courteous eye respect him;
Knowing no ill of him, did not suspect him.

She oft would praise his monkship to her train,
Calling his breast blest virtue's choice's shrine;
And vowed she seldom saw such beauty reign
Upon a face that's purely masculine.
And 'twas not common at his years to find
So neat a person with so pure a mind.

He'd freedom of discourse, not privacy,
Jests, sporting, laughter, and lip-dalliance;
Oft on Bellama would he fix his eye,
And she to him would answer glance for glance.
They gazed so long and oft, till they did tie
Their hearts together only by the eye.

Love's fever, at the casements of the soul
Ent'ring, inflamèd every secret part,
That passion now his reason doth control,
And with the gyves of love enchains his heart:
And walking with Bardino, seeking pleasures,
He did Bellama sing in lofty measures.

To his companion in praise of Bellama

Dost see yon tow'ring hills, yon spreading trees,
Which wrap their lofty heads in clouds? Dost see
Yon house of little worth, and lesser height?
Dost think a jewel of ten thousand weight
Can dwell within that sooty carcanet?
Dost think the gaudy sun each night does set
And riseth from yon roof? Dost think the moon,
With double horn and glitt'ring tapers, soon
Will issue thence? Didst ever see an eye
Which checked the beams of awful majesty?
Dost think an earth-born beauty can be found,
Which darts forth lustre from the sullen ground--
To kiss the glorious skies? Or canst thou think
The queen of beauty dwells in such a chink?
Dost think? 'tis poor, why do I question so?
Thou dar'st confirm all this by oath, I know,
Since my Bellama's there, all life, all breath,
Whose presence can enlive the soul of death,
Despite of sickly Nature: she is all fair
And truly meriteth Bellezza's chair.
All those fair treasures, which dispersèd lie
'Twixt poles and parallels, pay to her eye,
And with her span contracted in her meet
As radiant, red, white, smooth, soft, rich, and sweet,
She is the world's epitome and soul,
And with her inch of earth outworths the whole.
She's beauty's archi-fount: as riv'lets small
Borrow from greater currents, and they all
Pay tribute to the ocean, just so
The dimmer shafts of wingèd Cupid's bow
Borrow from brighter, [and] the brightest pay
Homage unto Bellama--beauty's day.
I tell thee there's not one small worth of hers
But loudly says that foppish Nature errs
In other beauties: nor is this all, for why?
Her thoughts pluck stars, and dark th' imperial sky.
Virtue and beauty both: why, 'tis as rare
As frosts in June or comets in the air,
As crows in Africk, Æolus want puffs,
Or she-precisians want Geneva ruffs.
Yet my Bellam', alone and one, unites
The beauteous colours, noble red and whites,
With heaven's issue, Virtue: dar'st then deny,
If not divine, her half a deity?
Tip Cynthia's horns with wonder, wind aloud,
And mount the saddle of a wingèd cloud,
Then circle earth, and see if thou canst find
Half such a feature with so rare a mind.
I know when thou return'st thou'lt say with me,
Bellama's beauty is a A per se.

* * * * *

Thus he to rocks and bushes did discover
The secret flames which scorched his heated breast:
Though he as yet was not a vocal lover,
But shrouded his close love in smiles and jest.
Yet Fortune oftentimes does Venus grace.
He got lip-freedom in an eyeless place.

For there a Turk's Elysium was the stage
Whereon the virgins acted parts of mirth,
Which Nature did with nobler gifts engage,
And deckèd more than other parts of earth:
And Bellam's breath was such a powerful thing,
It here did keep an everlasting spring.

The angry puffings of congealing East
And sturdy North, cold Winter's stoutest roisters,
Durst ne'er of curled locks the trees divest,
Nor e'er were heard to whistle in their cloisters.
Such vernal blasts came from Bellama's mouth
Kept here Favonius, and the dropping South.

And if sharp frosts did, in her absence, steal
Into this place, and glaz'd the tattling streams,
Then into crystal would the springs congeal,
And ev'ry flower was rayed with silver beams.
Yet if Bellama did but glance her eye,
The crystal and the silver thence did fly.

Nay, strange it was to hear the purling wet,
The saucy frost with angry murmurs chide,
And with its constant jars and strugglings fret,
Then thaw to tears, and on the Venice slide.
Yet oft Bellama would call in her rays,
To view the silver purls and crystal ways.

Into this garden once Albino got;
Yet ah! but once, and met his sovereign fair,
Hoping their hearts should tie the Gordian knot
He fanned her beauty with such courting air.
For, though he was a monk, love did instruct him,
And to Love's palace Fortune did conduct him.

He oftentimes with trembling thumb would press
Her dancing vein, way to her heart to find,
Whilst conscious she her looks with red would dress,
Fearing her pulse was traitor to her mind.
For 'tis entruthed by some that by this vein
We may the knowledge of affections gain.

Such knowledge gained he by her pulse's touch,
Which leapt to meet, not chide, his busy thumbs,
That he desired a kiss; and found it such
Whose sweetness far outsweet[en]s Hybla's combs:
Then cried, 'Give for each lip a cherry sweet,
And then a third, in which they two may meet.'

Such quick'ning heat was from those kisses lent,
That thawed his voice and did unfreeze his tongue,
Packed thence despair, exilèd discontent,
And made him vent what was concealèd long.
For though desire and love each minute bid him.
Yet fear, his habit, and her beauty, chid him.

'Madam,' quoth he, 'vouchsafe a courteous ear
Unto my words, sent from an amorous heart.
Which hath long time been wracked with hope and fear,
Grisly despair, and Cupid's awful dart,
And till this time (restrained by black disasters)
Could ne'er apply lip-love or vowel-plasters.

Be pleased to know (yet sure you needs must know it)
A beauty so divine must needs divine,
Though I should want heart, hand, or voice to show it,
When first your beauty in mine eyes did shine,
They slipped into my breast, and told my heart
The god of love by them had sent a dart.

My heart made quick reply (if hearts have voice)
You ever have such faithful servants been,
That what you like, I'll freely call my choice:
For beauty, brought by you, does fires teen.
Carry this message back, tell her 'tis best
That hers should heat my bosom, I her breast.'

'Peace, peace.' quoth she, 'speak not a work of love,
For fear my anger scorns and folly writes.
Eagles love eagles, and the dove the dove.
Hawks brook not buzzards: or the pheasant kites.
Equals love equals: but unequal flame
Is teened with folly, and expires with shame.'

'True, quoth he,' likeness does the heart incline;
Greatness loves greatness without farther search,
Yet crawling ivies lofty elms entwine,
And gall-less turtles with the eagles perch.
I baulk your greatness: for as good, not great,
I homage pay, and loves alarums beat.

Those airy titles which ambition swell,
And puff like bladders [are] like bladders burst,
The worldling's goddess, which in chests does dwell,
Is gnawn with rust, and makes the chesters curst.
Honour is tied unto the prince's eye
And wealth to Fortune's mutability.

I have not wealth (nor do I want), what then?
Must Hymen stoop unto the nods of gold?
Must I vail bonnet unto ermine men?
And virtue by the herald be controlled?
No, love does blaze the noblest arms: and she
That can maintain herself in love, can me.'

'Stay, stay.' quoth she, 'you will be out of wind.
Methinks the voice of greatness speaks delight.
Our poets only then feign Cupid blind,
When children of the sun do dote on night,
Or folly, mounted on Icarian wings,
Courts queens' affections and does gaze on kings.'

'No,' says Albino, ''tis the contrary.
Love never is more purblind than when earth
Joins house to house, and pedigrees do tie
Scutcheons to scutcheons in pure virtue's dearth.
For regal flames blest goodness only teens,
And virtue ought to court the love of queens.

We all are born for public good: 'tis vain
With torchlight to embellish Titan's rays,
Or cast our stock of water in the main,
Such love from laws of love and nature strays.
But those that Fortune hath enriched with goods
Should dam up nature's wants, by mixing bloods.

Was I the Caesar of the Roman stems,
(Once only darling to the King of skies),
Did both the Indies pay me tribute-gems,
I'd not unite a double majesty.
For being no distinction in degree,
She would assume that honour due to me.

She'd chide me sooner than I durst check her,
And (as the proverb) quarrel for the breeches.
On some choice mean that honour I'd confer
Should sue with humble 'Sirs', and low beseeches.
Thus was she tied to payment of respects,
I licensed with state-love to mix neglects.

Where beauty does indite, and virtues seal,
Greatness is not required to set his hand:
Though greatness here may virtue's acts repeal,
Yet virtue's acts in Cupid's courts must stand.
Then where I find grace, feature, virtues, dwell,
I've greatness, wealth, and honour--toll the bell!

Then with kind airs, life of my wishes, speak,
Bid honour know his distance, wealth depart,
And let the day of true contentment break
From thy clear lips, to cheer my misted heart.
O, with one circle let my arms enfold
The soul of honour and the heart of gold.'

'Sir,' quoth Bellama, 'wealth is not my aim,
Nor does the gales of honour heave my soul,
I higher prize an action than a name,
And value more a pamphlet than a roll.
Where I with comeliness find virtue mixed,
My love, eyes, thoughts, are on that object fixed.

I speak not much of love, lest you presume;
And speak a little, lest you should despair.
I would not have my words your hopes deplume,
Nor feather them to reach the highest air.
I sum up all in this, whenas I say,
I will not with disdains thy service pay.'

Oh happy words! oh more than sacred breath!
Albino, live! Bellama says thou must.
Confront dire Fate, and challenge meagre Death:
'Tis not in them to moulder thee to dust.
Yet be advised, let not proud folly in,
The conquest is as great to hold as win.

Our anchorist with all the words that joy,
Hearting a lover, was acquainted with,
Accosts his saint, rewards the wingèd boy,
And congees to the queen of heat and pith.
Smilèd and glanced, paid thanks, desired a kiss;
And prayed time give an age unto his bliss.

But when day's lamp had wan the western clime,
And wrapt his head in sea-green Thetis' lap,
Our lover must observe the chanting time
And bids his saint adieu. Oh hard mishap!
Oh, 'tis a hell to think what hellish pain
True lovers by unkind divorcement gain!

Yet, by that time the hoary-headed sire
Had summed twelve sixty minutes, he again
Returned t' his lady, when bright Titan's fire
Was newly risen from the brackish main:
And, common greetings passed amidst their pleasures,
He in his lady's hands these lines entreasures.

Upon Bellama's walking in the garden, and with him

My teeming fancy strives, choice fair, to chain
Eternity to time, that ne'er shall wane;
And make those garden-minutes see the sun
Entombed in darkness, and the earth unspun
Ere they expire, that all succeeding times
May know and tell the subject of these rhymes.
Assist me, Flora, that I may with grace
Worthy its honour, shadow forth that place
Of spreading trees, sweet herbs, and fragrant flowers,
Enriched with pleasing walks and shady bowers.
Each twig, with amorous touch, embraced his mate,
Like Bacchus' sacred tree his propping state;
Or ivy, elm, that neither sun nor wind
To his retirèd conclaves passage find.
Within whose walls a half-night's darkness dwells,
Which satyrs' growing palaces excels,
Or anchorets' secluding hermitage.
Here, like a common theatre or stage,
Each spicèd child of earth, in summer robe
And Iris' mantle, opes his closèd globe,
Knows his appearing cue, and freely plays
O' th' wished-for presence of your quick'ning rays.
Such perfect vivifying influence
Dwells in your looks, Light's chariot driven hence,
That your sole presence can create a spring,
From winter's frozen bands can loose each thing,
From earth's entombing sepulchre can raise
Each sleeping flow'r, to chant forth Maia's praise.
This made amazement seize my mind to view
Half-agèd winter bid so soon adieu
To this Elysium of the pagans' joy.
And Chloris, with her new-brush'd clothes so coy
Before, and hardly to be won, come forth
Crowned with the glory of her springing worth,
To court our eyes, nay more, the bare-faced earth
Covered with carpets green, befringèd round
With smiling rosy trees, with glorious store
Of daisies, suckles, cowslips, studded o'er.
Like hunting vests of satonisco green,
Embossed with gems by fawns and wood-nymphs' queen,
Worn when the tushèd boar, bear, panting hart
Th' unkennel, rouse, disfrank with nimble art.
And, lest your spotless souls should suffer ill,
Air's fleeting tuns crystalline streams distil,
To wash the grassy-tufted tapestry
Which whistling winds, with murm'rings, haste to dry.
And ev'ry tender branch whereon you tread
To make your tracing, pacing, moves its head.
Alcinous' orchard, or that precious root
Which bore old Atlas' daughters golden fruit;
Th' Idalian mount where Cytherea strayed,
Or that where Ceres' luckless daughter played
Whenas the king of shades surprisèd her.
Nor may the Roman's pride with this confer,
For here all Maia's treasures are united
Which do, which shall, or senses e'er delighted,
Yet summered by your eye each flower does bud,
Blossoms, sprouts, opens, blooms, and chews the cud.
Your presence hearts them all. O be as kind
As unto them to me; shoot through my rind.
Shine through my heart with one, one smiling ray!
So shall it open, blossom, sprout as they--
Spiced with the choicest sweets e'er Venus had,
In all the postures of true service clad,
Trimmed with the beauties of the richest spring.
All fertile too, all store of fruit shall bring:
This, choice affection; that, chaste loyalty;
This, vows; that, service; and that, constancy,
Made up into a nosegay, circled in
With twists of love, which youth and virtue spin.
Then, breath and ray, make and accept the posy
And seal a contract 'twixt the lily and rosy.

* * * * *

Enspherèd thus with virgins, oft he would
Tell pretty tales, fraught with conceited mirth,
Discourse of foreign states sometimes unfold,
(A sudden jest may give to laughter birth.)
Thus to beguile the time, he oft would do,
And unsuspected did his lady woo.

Then privately sometimes with her would walk
Along a pavèd way, where lofty trees
Bore only witness of their am'rous talk,
Plaiting their branchèd pride that none might see.
And, lest quick envy should their dalliance spy,
Themselves about the trees the brambles tie.

Here in soft whispers did he court her love,
And strove by oath their loves to ratify.
'Madam,' says he, 'this reason may you move,
That day and malice have too many eyes
When my lips are sealed, and I attempt in vain
To send the children of my teeming brain.

Not half so vigilant the dragon was,
Which Colchos' treasure watch'd, as is your dame;
So that they must through Argus headpiece pass
Which seek here to enkindle Cupid's flame.
I know your jealous matron does discover
How my faint heart about your breast does hover.'

'Sir,' says Bellama, 'there is no such haste.
Time will appoint our loves some fitter seasons,
My father must ungirdle first my waist,
Love will not be repelled by force, but reasons:
And more, you know it is in vain to strive,
Here's no escaping this monastic hive.

When as the third day's sun, three hours or more,
Our zenith has behind him left, hither
Return, and I will meet thee; not before'.
'My thoughts', quoth he, 'do in your absence wither,
Pinched with the sharpest blasts cold winter breathes,
But your, your looks, my heart with blossoms wreathes.

That foolish glass, which measures time with sand,
Enough of gravel has to meet a year.
With lesser trouble I could Hermes' wand,
Than the sad torture of your absence, bear:
Change then those hours to minutes, days to day;
If you say't shall be so time must obey.'

'Alas,' quoth she, 'my faith is not so strong,
To think reality with language dwells,
Nor can I think you count those minutes long
When you're employèd with your beads and bells.
Yet t' has the face of truth: I'll therefore try
If time will pay such duty to mine eye.'

'These words have lent my body a new soul,
And shot', quoth he, 'a fire through every vein;
Doubt not your voice time's circle can control,
And make the sun his hasty jennets rein.
Nay more, methinks m' enlight'ned eyes discover
'Bout you the gods with veilèd bonnets hover.

I'm half-persuaded 'twas not blasphemy
For me to say your nod can ravel Fate;
Thaw into chaos this firm globe of dry;
Beckon the planets; and their tow'rs unslate.
Methinks I see the sun nailed to his sky,
Unnath his car, and throw his whipstaff by.'

'Peace, peace,' quoth she, 'Albino! thou dost rave,
Why dwells such language on thy wretching tongue?
Wilt thou just vengeance force to dig thy grave?
Think'st thou stern Fate will suffer such a wrong?
Pinion thy words; let them not soar so high,
Lest they should gash the clouds and ope the sky

We must not play with sharps, nor kiss the flame,
Dally with heaven, or upbraid the gods,
Lest their just anger make their powers tame
Such saucy scandals with their plagues and rods.
Then wing no more Bellama's name, but let
The pearl be callèd pearl, the jet but jet.

Go home in clouds, lest Envy see thy face;
And come not till those minutes task the watch.'
'Madam,' says he, 'I'll bid them mend their pace.
'Tis just with lovers every hair to catch
That dights occasion's brow, change date for date,
Entrench sometimes upon the rights of Fate.

Yet your command shall stand, I'll not transgress,
But watch the hand until it joint the hour,
And all my paths with gloomy shades will dress,
That undiscovered I may win this bow'r.
May all the blessings which a lover's voice
Breathes on his lady wait on you, my choice.'

Here did they meet to rivet fast their heart,
Where not a breath their private joys disturb;
They thought no eye a saucy ray durst dart,
Or any voice had power their loves to curb.
So credulous are lovers, and so fain
To their conjectures would conclusum's chain.

But this bright sun of joy eclipsèd was,
And pitchy clouds their glorious sky did smutch:
Then Venus' joys were like to Venice glass,
Poor glass-like toys that perish with a touch.
A guardian's anger, or a parent's frown,
Nips love's fresh blossoms and a wish uncrown.

The jealous matron, from her tow'ring loft,
O'erlooked th' ambitious trees which hemmed them in;
O'erheard their vows, their sighs, and language soft;
And saw how Cupid leapt from skin to skin,
The traffic of their lips, and how thin balms
Did glue and cement fast their melting palms.

When she perceived the progress of their love,
Religious care empanelled straight a jury
Of thoughts and plots, this stranger to remove,
Soothèd with profit, and enflamed with fury,
Ush'ring her language with a threat'ning frown,
She asked her business with that shavèd crown.

Why was that sickly voice whose feeble gales
Can raise no echoes, hand- and elbow-chat,
Eye-dialogue's discourse, and wanton tales,
That way of am'rousness and this, and that?
'Speak truth, Bellama, has thy heart, as voice,
Decreed that youthful monk thine only choice?'

Bellama, startled at this sudden news,
Yet did her answers all consist of noes;
But yet, alas! her blood observed the cues,
And called by guilt, her lily banks o'erflows:
So that, though she with settled vows denied,
Yet to the eye her blushes guilty cried.

When as the matron's busy eyes had read
Love on her cheeks in bloody letters writ,
She asked her why blind folly thus had led
Her reason 'gainst religion, state, or wit?
Or, if she needs must love, why did she scowl
Upon state-satins, and embrace a cowl?

Bellama to excuses tuned her air,
Framing pretences for her amorous faith,
But yet, alas! such was Pazzella's care,
From her excuses she withheld her faith.
And, with a voice shrill and as fierce as thunder,
Sware she would knap their silly loves in sunder.

Those scarlet gowns which doom offenders' death,
Or the proscriptions of the Roman state,
Had not the tithe of that affrighting breath,
Although they weak'ned hell and threat'ned Fate,
As had these words which feeble love did shiver,
Snap his weak strings, and crack his emptied quiver.

But, all this while, Albino sate with pleasure,
And on his trencher joy and mirth attend;
Nor to delight will he allow a measure,
As at one sitting he his stock would spend.
Nay, if he slept, he dreamed of naught but rings,
Gloves, fans, masks, monkeys, and such pretty things.

And when the time of his approach approached,
His eye did travel with the dial's hand,
Then started up to see Don Phoebus coached,
Bade him make haste and at that minute stand,
That this blest day may count more moments' flight
Than could the stout Alcides' genial night.

But oft we see before a sudden dash,
The sun salutes the earth with hottest gleams:
So here, before misfortune's harshest lash,
Joy on Albino shot his choicest beams;
That every thought was crownèd with a star,
And rid with Venus in her silver car.

Rose out o' th' vault with love and hope adust,
And in conceit fed on his future sweet,
Thinking what most may please, not what's most just.
And with what phrase he should his lady greet:
Vowing, in this full heat of lust and pride,
To try how fast Bellama's girdle's tied.

But as our alchemists do study much,
Spend all their wits and wealth to find that stone
Which baser metals doth engold with touch,
(As he which once did awe the Phrygian throne)
And when they long have dreamèd of a mass,
Their silver's turned to tin, their gold to brass.

Just so our amorist, stuffed full with hope,
Came to this walk for his expected treasure,
The crystal casements of his soul did ope
To let in th' object of his joy and pleasure:
But when he thought t' have found his lovely lass,
His love was lady-smocks, his lady grass.

He searched with stricter care each bush and bow'r,
Than did the fairy king and Hob his man;
Throwing his eyes into each branchèd tow'r,
And midst the sharp'ned pikes of brambles ran.
Pricked forward with desire, enraged with spite,
And venteth here what love and hate indite.

Upon his Bellama using and forsaking the Walk

When, walking, I sent forth my watchful eyes
To fetch in objects, like Bellona's spies,
Along this swelling way which chequered was
With smooth-faced pebbles, not with pikèd grass,
Bellama paced, whose only pacing set
Upon the pavèd walk a coronet
Of Flora's pride--carnations, tulips, lilies,
Pansies, pinks, roses, daffadowndillies.
Nay more, methought, I saw the rubbish way
Sapphires, pearls, rubies, onyx-stones, outray.
The very channel, proud of her blest weight,
Swelled up with pride unto the ridge's height,
To kiss her feet, and made the way an alley.
With this choice fair mine eyes (ah!) once did dally,
Nature's epitome, whose curious brow
Was like a smoothèd mount of bleachèd snow,
At whose clear foot Nature divine did place
Two diamonds, which did enlighten all her face.
So that 'twas like those orbs wherein do stray
The planet-lamps, or Cupid's sucking way;
And from these gems such silver rays were sent
Which hatchèd o'er her light accoutrement.
So that dull fancies would have thought she had
In cambric, holland, or pure lawn, been clad.
Nay, I at first thought it had Cynthia bin
Deck'd in her brother's sunshine ermelin.
She shot such glorious beams: but now, alas!
She's gone, she's fled, and lo! the mourning grass
Is hayed already, and th' ungemmed stone
At feathers catch to fly where she is gone.
The branchèd beech, the oak, and tow'ring ash,
Bend both their brows and boughs my face to lash.
The angry thorns my hands, though armèd, scratch,
And testy brambles at my vestures catch
(Which was before the curse of human sin,
But now, by her, outsmelled the eglantine),
I, wonder-strucken, asked a holy thistle,
Which with his sharp'ned pikes began to bristle,
(But know at first 'twas but an homely weed,
Her presence made it holy, not its seed)
Why all with ireful looks thus threat'ned me?
'It is supposed, Bellama fair,' quoth he,
'The goddess of this walk was forced by you
To this benighted path to bid adieu.'
'Alas!' quoth I (meanwhile the thistle paus'd),
'Their wrath is undeserved, I never caused
By any ill demeans that saint to leave
This place, and widow every branch and greave.
Unto your testates I myself refer,
How choicely I have ever honoured her,
Have paid my tribute-compliments, and gave
Respects as much as due, or she, would have.
But people (worse than those that people stews)
Whose only joy consists in telling news,
Or Pazzell' else with her envenomed lips,
Your glory and my comfort do eclipse,
'Tis them they ought to chide, for only they
Compel her to forsake this gloomy way.
Yet spite of all disasters, fate, and hell,
Albino's heart shall with Bellama dwell:
And though chill winter nip both you and me,
We shall, ere long, our suns and summers see.'

* * * * *

This said, he straight forsook his silent grove,
Trimming his looks which passion did untrim,
And hastes to find the object of his love.
But such an eye the matron cast on him,
That fury on her looks did seem to dwell,
And envy to her face transplanted hell.

Heartless Albino with much pain did view
How on her looks madness and anger ranged,
And on Bellam' he private glances threw
To bring him word if that she stood unchanged,
If she continued square, despite of them,
Whose jealous eyes did all their actions hem.

Bellama knew the language of his eye,
But could not give respect to Cupid's law,
For Piazella to her eyes did tie
A constant watch, which kept her eyes in awe:
That she was forced to peep within her veil,
For there the matron did her eyes enjail.

The ragged crew, which are enwrapt in chains
Through grates, more freedom have of sight than she,
Which in them both produced such griefs and pains
Too sharp and loud to be expressed by me.
Albino now does judge his absence better,
And chose a proxy to present a letter.

One of his order (deemed a trusty friend
Endeared to him by favours, oath, and vow),
Was his Talthibius, ordained to send
To her whose beauty makes stiff Atlas bow.
The monk embraced the office, and did swear,
By all our scarlet oaths, faith, truth, and care.

Albino now to every Santo prays,
And for success his hands with zeal does rear,
Courting his lady in some Irish lays,
And robbed his finger of its golden sphere.
En-nealed I live in hope, and sure grief's waves,
If anchorless, had been t'is wishes graves.

To mee's faire Metres, Vandebrad Isile of te fine towne of Vaschester

Ick predee metres be not coy,
But intertaune mee's love vit joy:
For me be not a snottee boy.

Vat tough me russell not in silke,
And keep mee's servaunts vit capes ilke,
Yet me be not a sop of milke.

Vat tough me vil not stautly stret,
And ilke de Peacock poudely jet;
Yet me be vary pruce and neat.

Vat tough me vil not lye vit pimpes,
And pend me's coyne on light-teale shrimpes,
Yet me can hug, busse prettee nymphes.

Vat tough me ha ne Hauke ne Hound,
And vil not suare begot, idzound,
Yet faith mee's frolique, plumpe and sound.

Vat tough me cannot Maudam say,
And vit ty Fan an Monkee play,
Yet me con flatter vel as thay.

Vat tough me connot honour tee
Vit titles laudee C or D,
Yet tou sault a good Metress bee.

Vat tough, vat tough, Ick say, vat tough,
Ick say, udsnigs, in feck I trough,
Yet Ick drive not te Caurt and Plough.

Then pretee, pretee, buxome faire,
Let me not launguish in despaire,
But say me's sutes all gaunted are.

Let ne mee's Irish borrell speach,
In tyne affection mauke o breach,
For me con better say so teach.

And me can be as blyth and free
As auny push or saunten hee,
Ten say, and ved, and bed vit me.

Tyne faytfull friend and good servaune,
Patrick Applous, te fine, te bave, te
gallaun Irish-mon.

Upon the Ring sent to his Bellama

Cupid oft-times disdains to dwell
In lofty palace, but does shell
Himself in straw-thatched roof, and choose
For novel a September rose
Before a diamond to present,
Or time in silver ceilings pent;
Great gifts enforce, but small ones woo,
And forced respects will never do.
He questions his own worth that fears
To whisper in his mistress' ears
With smallest gifts, since true worth hates
A boon which for him loudly prates,
And female worths may justly slight
Those that but with gilt swords dare fight.
These make me send this little ring
(An emblem of a greater thing),
Tis bruised--hence representeth true
My heart, bruised, bent, and bowed for you.
Anatomists conclude by art
A vein is stretchèd to the heart
Fro' th' smallest finger of the left;
From vein and finger comes this gift:
Hence merits better, since we find
Many send presents, few their mind.

Upon the Posy I live in hope

'Tis hope that makes me live, and when
My hope's transferred to other men,
Divorced from me, health cannot give
A strength to make my rent heart live.
A rented heart 'tis truly called,
For love of virtues you enthralled,
Tenant at will to you, and pays
Large rents of sighs each hour and days.
But to what number they amount,
Puzzles arithmetic to count.
Then, courteous landlady, be please
To seal my heart a lifelong lease.
Else ev'ry slight and frown of yours
Will turn your tenant out of doors.
Yet hope persuades me not to doubt
My heart shall not be turnèd out.
For you have promisèd to come
And live with it, or exchange home;
So I be landlord unto thine,
And you be landlady to mine.
Say 'Aye' to this, and only Fate
Shall change the tenor of our state.

* * * * *

Bardino from the coven posts with speed
Unto Albino's only polar star,
Loaden with blessings, and beware take heed
As the great grandame's son prepared for war,
Or as a widow's son, whose only joy
Hangs on the nuptials of her lusty boy.

Like as a pilot to some floating keel
When as the bustlers from old Æol's cave
On Neptune's furrowed back make it to reel,
And at his death shoot billow after wave:
So tossed in seas of grief Albino tied
His love's choice pinnace to Bardino's guide.

But Bishop-Guts, tun-bellied, all-paunched friar,
In sight of Lesbia's tow'rs, split his fair galley,
Proved a dissembling and perfidious liar;
From his foul breast deceit and hate did sally.
The seeds of every sin in him did bud,
Nothing did wither but this one thing, Good.

For to win credit with the Lady-mother,
And raise a liking of himself in her,
He proved a traitor to his abbey-brother,
With abbotess in private does confer,
And unto her imparts his amorous news,
She, not Bellam', his vowèd service views.

But to Albino he returned with faith
(Yet 'twas an oath), 'I importuned thy saint,
Pressed her t' unlock thy secrets: but she saith
"What purblind folly does thy heart attaint?
Thou know'st what offers I refused, and thou'll
Confine my love unto a starvèd cowl!"

'Away flings she, and leaves me disconsolate,
Nor after deigned to me a wonted look:
Now is Albino pinched with cruel Fate.
Which is the better, Cupid, or thy book?
Hadst viewed her beauty with a scornful eye
Thou hadst not tasted of her pride and fie.

Hapless Albin', and hapless so much more
Because Albin', rest quiet with thy lot;
If Nilus overflow his sandy floor,
Above twelve cubits, it procures a rot.
When at too high a pitch affections tow'r,
Fate with misfortunes oft their hopes doth sour.

Wound not the harmless air with mournful hoots,
Steer not 'gainst Volga's stream thy feeble keel,
Be not like him who 'gainst a whirlwind shoots,
Or like the cockatrice in pecking steel;
For acts, 'gainst Nature wrought, despite do gain,
And love o'erlooking Fortune, reaps disdain.'

But let us see what strange effect this news
Writes in his breast (disaster's fatal book),
What stronger plot his working fancy brews
If's lofty thoughts be at this answer shook--
Alas! they are, so weak a thing is man,
Crash'd into atoms with a slighting fan.

His blood retires unto his throbbing heart,
His wannèd cheeks with lawn were overspread,
An aspen-trembling loos'ned every part,
His spirits fainted and his vitals fled,
And his quick heart with such strong motions beated
That it, though chilled with fear, his body heated.

Ent'ring his chamber, strewèd o'er with rue,
He leaned his head upon his swelling pillow,
And, sighing, cried 'Bellama! is this true?
Must I be doomèd to the barren willow?
I thought, exempted from my pedant's art,
I should no more have felt the willow's smart.

Thy eyes spake love: and every glance you sent
Writ on my heart, "Albino is approv'd";
Whensoe'er my eyes unto thy feature went,
And met with thine, they brought me word "You lov'd",
Then can Bellama not Bellama be?
She may Bellama be, but not to me.

Blest heavens! how have men deserved your ire,
That made you frame this curse, this thing called Woman,
So comely and so useful, giving fire
To sear us men and yet disdain to know man?
Why on their faces have you placed such charms,
To make us court with sighs the worst of harms.'

Pandora's box of woes was openèd then,
When first they took in hand to make a woman,
And all the Furies joined to torture men;
Yet women first were rare, but now grown common,
And mischiefs high, when once they common grow
Entomb great states, and commons overthrow.

Thou Love (what should I call thee?) dost entice,
Nay check'st rebellion in the awful gods;
Women thy weapons are, of such high price,
That beat with them they humbly kiss the rods.
No life, no joy, no sweet, without a lass;
And yet no sweet nor joy since woman was.

Our eyes do ne'er mistake the day for night,
Nor can the pale-hewed pinks for roses pass,
But when on women's colours they do light.
Then (bribed) they look as through a painted glass,
So that what women are we never see
But what we wish and fancy them to be.

'Mongst thousand virgins which do suck this air,
I never knew but one, but one--one good;
Whom I supposèd full as good as fair,
And she was making e'er Deucalion's flood:
But she--alas! what should I say?--but she
Is woe to man, a woman unto me.'

Thus in his height'ned fury he condemns
Both Fate and Fortune, honour, wealth, and worth,
Raileth on virgins and their beauteous gems,
And curseth Nature that did bring her forth,
But, above all, his sharp incensèd muse
In wrathful odes Don Cupid does accuse.

An invective against Cupid

Thou Love, if thou wilt suffer this, be blind,
Deaf, dumb, and stupid, and unwisely kind
More unto slights than merits, and reward
Respects and negligence with same regard.
If satins difference and maids adorn
Than Nature has with beauty, more with scorn,
That they must fligger, scoff, deride, and jeer,
Appoint their servants certain hours t' appear,
Afford by number kisses, sights by tale,
Command a certain distance, and impale
Love's game from taste or touch, and, if at all
Men do transgress, steep all their words in gall,
Check but the least presumption, and with frowns
Strike as much terror unto us as crowns--
Love, if thou'lt suffer this, and wink at them,
Make us esteem a pebble for a gem,
Stoop, cringe, adore, sue, flatter, and admire,
And in our bosoms teen'st thy amorous fire--
May all the haggish Furies soundly lash
And with their snaky whips thy sinews gash!
May all the tortures Hell encloseth fall
On thee, if not enough, and more than all.
But we--we men, will be no more thy slaves
And women's too: we'll pack unto our graves:
And in our silent beds of earth will court
The slender-waisted worms, and with them sport,
Dally, hug, toy, and vow their wimbling buss
Is full as sweet as women's was to us.
Enwalled with dust we'll lie: till Nature shall
Perceive thy malice, Cupid, and her fall,
And woo's, with sighs and tears in loving guise,
For a replantage of the world, to rise,
Then shall our wills ungod thee and thy mother,
And Cupids be ourselves one to another.
Then in thy temples shall no voice be heard,
But screech-owls, dors, and daws; no altar reared
Whereon to sacrifice true lovers' hearts,
Scalded with sighs, and gallèd with thy darts.
For we ourselves ourselves will temples call,
And make our bosoms altars, whereon shall
From fourteen to fourscore the females fairs
Burn frankincense of love with sighs and prayers:
And change the custom so that maidens then
Shall court, admire, adore, and woo us men.

* * * * *

This said, he strove t' unbillow all with slumbers,
But th' more he strove to rest less rest he takes.
His watchful thoughts each tattling minute numbers,
Bellama's wakening beauty him awakes.
And having purchased sleep, though they were dim,
Bellama's beauty darted rays at him.

Then, starting up her substance fair to catch,
He lost the shadow, and did rave again:
'Can grovelling brambles lofty cedars scratch?
Or waddling ducks o'ertop the tow'ring crane?
Yet virtues, imped with person, reach a sky,
And to an higher pitch than Fortune fly.

There is a tree (as our historians write),
Alpina hight, of fair and glorious glee,
With branches fine and glorious blossoms dight
But never tasted by the witty bee,
Fearing death lodgeth there; and this he fears
'Cause to the eye so glorious it appears.

Not much unlike to these our women are,
Whom Nature has in dainty colours dressed;
And of our women likest are the fair,
For with much beauty virtues seldom rest.
Would Jove all women I had judged to be
Alpina-like, or, if not all, yet she!

The queen of beauty strumpet was to Mars,
Officious bawd unto lascivious Jove,
A patroness of those that ride in cars,
And in her court nor virtue reigns nor love:
But lust and vanity, with wily trains,
That he repentance buys which beauty gains.

Sh'as many trulls, like Menelaus' wife,
And she such light-skirt things for chaste ones sells;
With whom dissembling and deceits are rife,
Smiles, tears, sighs, looks, with such enchanting spells.
If they but bend their brows and shoot out frowns,
They crack a sceptre and distemple crowns.

Yet stay: but by the sour we know not sweet,
White's silver hue adjoined to black shines best,
How should we know our hands but by our feet?
Health's only prized when sickness doth arrest.
This principle, perhaps, Bellama holds:
Summer is known by winter's chilling colds.

Perchance Bellama did not breath that woe,
Which by Bardino was conveyed to me,
Nor dwelt upon her lips that scornful "No":
'Twas only forgèd by her dame and he.
But--why should suspicion steal into my breast?
Suspect a friend, deceit with friendship rest?

No: Phaeton, base son to Day's bright blaze,
Daring his chariot, felt Jove's thunder fire.
Astronomers, whilst on the stars they gaze,
Oft-times do sink into the dirty mire.
Only the eagle, without purblind damps,
Can fix his eyes upon the prince of lamps.

The son of Daedalus soared up so high,
That Phoebus plucked his waxen jointed wings,
It was her pride checked my ambitious eye.
True love, to hatred changed by slights, has stings.
I'll write invectives: no! I'll only try
What virtue dwells in slighting poesie.'

To his Bellama slighting him

I'll bore the heavens, pierce the clouds a vein,
Make them full torrents weep of brackish rain,
To second my laments; methinks the sun,
Knowing my clue is ravelled and undone,
That my Bellama slights, should, vexed, resign
T' his sister's chariot his ecliptic line.
Bid Phoebe run horn-mad, and loudly cry,
Froth, howl, as in a fit of lunacy,
Nay, throw a poison on Endymion's lips,
Threaten to drown the world, the sun eclipse.
Keep the stars order still? or can they stir
And not digress? Know they how not to err?
Sure, no: I saw bright Paphos snuff her lamp,
Yet vowed to quench it with eternal damp,
Hurl all away, if that her servant's love
Be had in no regard, and awful Jove
Hurry along the milky way to find
That sniffling deity, that wingèd blind--
And vowed to clip his wings as short as monks
Their stubbed beards more short than panèd trunks,
Unless he shot a dart with more than speed,
To make Bellama's heart affections bleed.
Bold ocean foams with spite, his neb-tides roar,
His billows top and top-mast high do soar.
Nature herself is sullen, keeps her bed,
And will not rise so much as dress her head:
Regardless of the seasons, will not see
Loud winds deplume the bush and tow'ring tree.
The ploughman furrows earth, sows seed i' th' tides,
But nature weeps for me, his pains derides.
Copernicus his tenet's verified,
The massy globe does 'bout its centre ride.
All things disranked, nothing observes its state,
Change time and tide, or post or antedate.
But thou, Bellam', art deaf to me and blind,
Steel'st thine affections, flint'st thy hardenèd mind,
And strik'st fire thence t' inflame my tinder heart,
Thou oil'st the flame, but I endure the smart.
How oft have I, when others' eyes have slept,
Like sentinels to armies, watchings kept!
And when the thought o' th' saints' thrice blissful home
Which (ah! too seldom) 'mongst my thoughts did come,
Then, spite of goodness, blessed E was lost
And you the haven of me tempest-tost.
Have I made envious art admire thy worth,
Touched the Ela of praise t' emblazon 't forth?
Bid sleep goodnight, quiet and rest adieu,
Made myself no self to entitle you?
And, after this sad purgatory, must
My hopes be laid i' th' dust for want of dust?
Then know, Bellama, since thou aim'st at wealth
Where Fortune has bestowed her largest dealth,
That wealth may puff a clod of earth like leaven,
But virtuous want alone ensouleth heaven.
Know more, I scorned thy fortune: 'twas thyself
I courted, not thy slight-adored pelf,
And had not mortals' curse blessed thee, and I
Had swelled with honour and nobility,
My love, once fixed on virtue, parents' hate
In both might shake, but ne'er evert love's state.
I aim at virtue's bliss, and if I find
The heart and bosom good, I slight the rind.
But since, Bellama, thou regard'st not me,
I scorn to cringe, adore, and flatter thee.
For he that rules his thoughts has a nobler soul
Than he that awes the world from pole to pole.
Thus, fair, adieu! with love these measures scan,
And know my love was but a fit of man.

* * * * *

We'll leave Albino in this frantic mood,
And view Bellama, pargèd o'er with fear,
Asking a member of her sisterhood
(For love and virtues unto her most dear),
Amongst their sportings, and their chaste delights,
Wherefore Albino did refrain their sights.

Barraba (her the font those letters gave)
Said, 'I presume I rightly guess the cause'.
Bellama urged (thanks to the purblind knave),
'Twas thus', quoth she--yet made a two day's pause.
At length, with importunings overcome,
She told her why Albino kept at home.

'Bardino did deceive his trust', quoth she,
'Told all, yet sung another song to him:
His love came lapped in paper unto thee,
He with quaint words did his affections limn,
Vowed service: but Bardino (ah the shame!)
Unclasped his secrets to our jealous dame.'

'Am I an infidel? or dare I tie',
Quoth fair Bellama 'unto this belief?
Shall just revenge in my soft bosom die?
And shall I melt my heart with secret grief?
I'll scold with him.' Says chaste Barraba, 'No,
For by that others will your wishes know.'

What she should do (plung'd in this depth of woe)
Bellama knew not, nor durst counsel ask:
More dangers wait her, if she send or go,
Than if she underwent Alcides' task.
Distracted were her thoughts in silence tied,
Till love and honour buzzled, then she cried,

'Ah! false Bardino, shame of holy orders!
Whither, ah! whither didst thou send thy troth?
To be grand factor in the frozen borders
For them whose decks do make old ocean froth?
And truthless thou, locked in this gloomy cell,
Plott'st baseness to enlarge the crown of hell.

Unjust Bardin', unworthy of a cope,
Or (whose employments holy) other vest,
Didst [thou], oh didst thy conscience scour with soap,
And washed all faith from off thy glazèd breast?
And, faithless, thou esteemest less of vow
Than clownish whistlers which do steer the plough.

Where didst encage thine eyes? durst thou behold
(Acting this crime) the castle of the stars?
How stopp'st thine ears? didst hear the heavens scold,
And chide in wind and thunder threat'ning wars?
Durst touch the hallowed water, spittle, salt,
The cross or pax, and yet attempt this fault?

Those sacred bagnios, wherein pagans wash
Their sullied limbs for their mosquea's door,
The pottage-penance and repentant lash,
Their hair-cloth shirt, skin-shoes, and thousand more;
Th' arch-vicar's pardon, and the purging flame
Can ne'er absolve thy crime or clear thy fame.

Pack then from human eyes, and shroud thy sin,
Under the curtains of eternal night;
Perfidiousness does make thee near of kin
To hell's black fiends, with robes of horror dight.
Pack, pack, begone, the ferryman does stay
To waft thy paunch o'er th' Acherontic bay.

But peace, Bellama, dost thou think it fit
To value at so mean a price thy pearl?
Applaud thyself, count it a point of wit
To take a cowlist and refuse an earl.
The world shall be uncentred, ere 't be said
Beauty takes lodging in an humble maid.

What then? shall every fashion fashion me,
As in religion by the church's eye,
So by the world's must I in loving see?
No, I the world's supremacy deny.
Hence with those loves which profit only measures,
I hate that heart which only shoots at treasures.

The Cyprian goddess is not fed with ploughs,
Nor Cupid's arrow guided is with acres.
Vulcan permitted was to shake the boughs,
But Mars suck'd in the sweets without partakers.
Youth, youth pursues; for with autumnal looks
Cupid does seldom bait his eighteen hooks.

Who in pleuretic passions does deny
To open veins, to shut death out o' th' doors?
Who will not in sharp fevers Galen try,
To weaken humours, and unstop the pores?
The quickest eye does want the quick'ning sun,
And to the sea the drilling cadents run.

Who, when Sir Cupid enters at the eye,
With pride and coy disdain shuts comfort forth?
I'll make ambition stoop now, love, says I,
And satin thoughts shall veil to tammy worth:
By lovely maids the lovely lovèd are,
And by the fair most favoured are the fair.'

Thus did she rage, her resolution love;
Which spite of all disasters she will harbour,
Hoping blest fate will so propitious prove,
T' enclose her monk and her in Cupid's arbour:
But leave her surfeiting with hope, and view
When to monastic vows she'll bid adieu.

Till Cynthia twice twelve times repairèd had
Her silver horns, she was encloistered here:
When some kind planet moved her loving dad
To fetch her thence his frosted age to cheer,
Hence, virgin vow, away black vestments hurled,
Bellama's born again into the world.

He with his lady mounted on his jen-
Net to the nunnery with haste does ride,
Accompanied with troops of harnessed men
And vowed a siege if Piazzell' denied,
To batter down the holy walls with guns,
And fright the hag with all her simp'ring nuns.

He in an ambush placed his iron crew,
Bade them prepare when as the trump did call,
Dismounting then the janitor him knew
And led the lordly couple through the hall,
Parlours, and chambers, to the conclave where
The pious nuns their branchèd lilies rear.

Bellama craved a blessing, they it gave;
Then Rivelezzo he did softly ask
If the monastic roof should be her grave?
If now she grievèd for Don Fuco's task?
If, after two years' bondage, now she would
Answer more kindly to the voice of gold?

'My lord,' quoth she, with humble knee and voice.
'I am not tired with my nicer vow,
Nor hate I Hymen, might my eyes make choice,
Ask when I'll marry, and I'll answer now.'
'A man', quoth he, 'for face and virtue choose,
And on mine honour I will not refuse.'

Pazzella fearing that their whisp'ring would
Presage no good unto her huffing waste,
Broke off their parle; and Rivelezzo told
That his fair daughter zealous was and chaste:
And that her mind no evil did attaint,
'She almost has attained to be a saint.

Such high-prized comforts, joys, rewards, and glory
Our happy walls enseal and curtain in,
That we alone survive: all praise and story
Are called hell's tortures and the whips of sin.
The local motion of our soul's in heaven,
We hate blind Turkism and the Jewish leaven.'

'Madam,' quoth Don, 'you need no advocate,
Since you yourself can plead your cause so well;
But that my sex does interdict this state,
What your words might effect I cannot tell.
But sure it does unscrew a virgin's heart,
To hear of love, and never feel his dart.'

'Madam, forsooth,' quoth Lady Arda, 'I
Ne'er found such comfort i' th' innupted life,
Nor think the blessings of virginity
Can equal the contentments of a wife.
My voice should not assent unto her vow
To wreath with willow sprigs her melting brow.'

Quoth Piazzella, 'I am grievèd sore
To hear such scandals thrown upon our vow,
To hear Diana, whom all ought t' adore
And her chaste votaries depravèd now.
I know not what contents attend a wife
But sure they equal not th' innupted life.

Again, your honours you do much impeach
To force your daughter from this happy state;
'Twixt her and happiness you make a breach,
And pull upon your heads a cursèd fate.
Heavens unbuckle will their clouds of rain,
Death or diseases, if you part our train.

The body's better than the sheathing skin,
And ought with greater care to be maintained;
The guest is far more worthy than the inn,
And ought with greater study to be trained.
The soul mounts heaven, when earth's agèd womb
The skeleton (her issue) does entomb.'

'Away with arguments, in vain you plead;
Our vow', quoth they, 'locked not her girdle ever.'
'I', quoth Pazzella, 'do abjure the tede:
Hymen shall ne'er my holy orders sever.
But spite of all the tricks the world does nurse,
I'll keep my virgins from the bridal curse.'

Without demurs, Don Rivelezzo then
With shrill-voiced trumpet made an echo speak;
Straight was the house environèd with men,
Which with their leaden globes an entrance break.
The air was frighted with the powder-thunder,
The bellowing noise did split the rocks in sunder.

Affrighted thus, the matron bid them gang,
And to Bellama gave a sad adieu;
Yet in her heart she griped with Envy's fang,
And o'er her looks a veil of sorrow drew.
The joyful parents, having got their daughter,
Gave a farewell unto the house with laughter.

Leaving the coach and cloister, we'll take part
With poor Albino in his woe and grief,
Who, seeing Fortune his designs did thwart,
And Neptune's grandchild brought him no relief,
Did think to win her presence in disguise:
He that but one way tries is hardly wise.

He plotted to invest himself with robe
Might speak him nobly born, and gallant heir
To some vast measures of this wealthy globe,
Seated aloft in honour's oval chair--
Procure him then some store of lacèd capes
To wait on him with servile garbs and shapes.

Pretending to be one o'th' Spanish court,
Giving strange accents to our modern speech,
And hither came his wand'ring mind to sport,
But that he faces lacked to tune each breach.
Besides he knew the matron's care was such,
She love untwisted in the eye or touch.

Then a new project did he get on's brain,
And sheared the downy moss from his smooth chin,
Intending to be one o' th' virgin-train,
Like Jupiter, husked in a female skin:
But that he feared religion could not bridle
His active heat 'twixt linen to be idle.

He thought his breaking voice would him betray
(Unless he said he ever had a cold),
He feared the curtsey and the female play,
Or that his face would make him seem too old.
But above all he fear'd he should not lock
His legs within the compass of a smock.

In costly vestures he would be arrayed
Of high descent, and fearing lest his sire
Would force him to an hated pillow, strayed
With them to teen the holy vestal fire.
He would be nobly born, not out of pride,
But to be sheeted by Bellama's side.

He had no treasure, but would promise fair,
That, settled there, he should be fed in state,
Hoping to win the porter with kind air,
That with Bellama he might thread the gate.
He all would venture: and upon this plot
Would place his fortunes, and the Gordian knot.

In such accoutrement he veilèd was,
That to himself Albino was not known.
He lookèd for Albino's face i' th' glass;
But nothing of himself t' himself was shown.
Each way a maid, enriched with special grace,
As though he had unflow'r'd Adonis' face.

He styl'd himself Felice, only child,
To him who at that time was Folco's duke;
And was so like to her whom he was styled
That she could scarcely say 'twas not her look.
For what's of Issa and her picture writ
Was found in them, they tasked the poet's wit.

Unto this virgin-cage she fast did pace,
And, knocking at the gate, the porter came,
Who, seeing riches on her back and face,
With humble voice desired to know her name.
'My name (good friend),' quoth she, 'Felice is,
I come to taste your choice monastic bliss.'

'Madam,' Avaro said, 'our rubbish stone
With cement join'd shall precious straight be made,
In that they shall ensphere so fair an one.'
Felice, smiling at the porter, said,
'Hath time with iron jaws eat out this part
Which now these masons do repair by art?'

And truth it was, Felice, Folco's heir,
Flying the disaster of an hated tede,
Couched in disguises at a cottage bare
(But how? when? where? task not my amorous lede).
So that Pazzella's faith writ on her brow
The noble treasures of Felice's vow.

'Not time it was, but an unhappy hour'
The porter said 'we had a virtuous fair,
Daughter unto a man of mighty power,
So like yourself I think you sisters are,'
(How largely flatt'ry has dispersed its song
That it does oil and smooth a porter's tongue!)

'Bellama hight by her uncourteous sire,
Fetched hence, who, when my lady did deny,
Begirt our holy walls with sulphur-fire,
And summoned harnessed men which close did lie.
They with their leaden worlds at us did play
And frighted (as you see) these stones away.'

Felice, knowing that her adamant,
Th' impulsive cause of this her virgin-vow,
Was vanished thence, and gleams of joy did want
And wanning sorrow revelled on her brow.
Scarce could she speak and every jointing trembled,
Yet feared the porter, and her fear dissembled.

Pazzella and the virgins her esteemed,
Seeing her feature and unequalled grace,
Before they knew his parentage or deemed
He was descended from high Folco's race.
But, knowing that, their joys did swell so high,
That grief for sorrow slinked aside to cry.

But ere the next day's sun to let out day
Night's ebon box unlocked, she did not brook
To hear their private whispers, talk, and pray,
Erect the host, and kiss a gilded book.
For, her, Bellama has possessèd solely,
So that their water could not make her holy.

Instead of 'Virgin-mother' she would say,
'My dearest lady, hear my sad complaint.'
Nor to she-saints would she devoutly pray,
'Cause none but her Bellama was a saint.
Unto Lorretta, as Bellam', she swears:
And calls their holy water but her tears.

She wond'red oft how her Bellama did
Two years continue in this hated cell;
And in her thoughts she oftentimes her chid,
For dwelling where but formal good does dwell,
Since in her absence she could scarce abide
To sojourn here a double eventide.

Her brains acquainted was no whit with sloth,
But plotted how she might escape that jail:
And to this end she vowed her virgin-oath
Should for her quick returning put in bail;
She thought her breach of virgin-oath no sin
Because she only wore the formal skin.

She missed, in ransacking her cabinet,
A precious jewel, far exceeding rare,
Which on her brow the lady duchess set,
As a true pledge of her indulgent care:
Far richer than that pearl which Egypt's queen
Quaffed to her Mark, dissolved in liquor keen.

But for all this a curious fit of man
Did force her, for assay, to enter in
To see if fasting did their rosies wan,
Or folly led not in the Paphian sin,
Thinking her wit could manumise her straight
From that lank cloister by some nimble sleight.

This she pretended to have lost as she
(Fainted with fears, and with her travels tired)
In the cool shade of a well-hairèd tree
Threw water on her joints with labour fired.
For heavens parch the air with hotter rays
When with his flaming tongue the dogstar bays.

'Madam,' quoth she, with feignèd tears and sigh,
'Grant me your licence to go seek my gem,
The place of my reposure is but nigh';
Swore by those fires that did enlighten them,
By her virginity and virgin-vow,
Return ere time could pace a triple now.

Quoth Piazella, 'I will send a maid
To seek your jewel out with studied care,
Direct her to the shade wherein you stayed,
For you forbidden are the common air.
Our gardens, beautified with Maya's glee,
Your farthest journey must and ought to be.'

She urged again, but all in vain she asked;
The prioress remembered still the earl,
And feared Felice his departure masked,
Under pretence of seeking for a pearl.
And more suspicious thoughts unto her came
'Cause she so often kissed Bellama's name.

She, seeing that this plot did want a stamp,
To make it current pass like lawful coins,
Feared her departure from this lanky camp,
And vowed to try the virgin's skill at foins.
Yet, ere she would attempt that amorous play,
She would attempt escapes some other way.

She viewed the casements, and did boldly wrench,
With courage masculine, the squarèd bars:
But they did scorn the vigour of a wench,
Like sturdy oaks which slight the windy jars.
Nay more, deep waters did begirt them round,
That from the glass he could not see the ground.

Then on the porter did she kindly smile,
And by full tale gave free respects to him;
Thinking to gull Avaro by this wile,
Joinèd with language oiled, perfumed, and trim,
Quoth she, 'Thy trust, and skill I must employ
And for thy pains thou shalt have treasures, boy.'

The greedy porter, like a goshawk, seized
With griping talons on this pheasant cock,
'Madam', says he, 'my skill is not diseased,
Nor dwells dissembling with the honest frock.
Disclose your secrets, and be sure if man
Can do you service, then Avaro can.'

Felice then, as prologue to her suit,
Gave him a purse full fraught with pseudo-gold;
Told him her bounty brought no worser fruit
If in th' achievement he'd be true and bold.
'Thou must, some evening, let me pass the gates
And straggle half a mile to gather dates.'

'Madam, I'll do 't: it is a small request,
Since you do merit better at my hand.
If fortune be propitious to my best.
You on the common shore this night I'll land
My hands have eyes and only what they see
Will they believe--give me my minted fee.'

Felice then plucked out a silken purse,
Great, and as musical as th' other was,
Pretending it was stuffed with metal curse,
When 't only was with circled ragges of glass;
Which purposely she did with di'monds cut,
To gull the porter's hopes and fill his gut.

'Heavens augment your store, madam,' quoth he,
'I'll wait for you at the middle age of night;
Come to my lodge and softly call for me.'
This handsome cheat Felice did delight.
To cozen the deceivers is no fraud,
To use a pimp, and cheat a rusty bawd.

She scarcely knew what letters spellèd grief,
For all her thoughts with regal crowns were wreathed,
Yet 'mongst them all Bellama ruled as chief.
At time of rest her body she unsheathed,
And housed within the linen walls her limbs,
Till night and sleep did their quick tapers dim.

Avaro (when day's sister's misty fog
Had poppèd out Apollo's searching eye,
And gen'ral silence human tongues did clog
Locking all senses up with lethargy)
Stepp'd to his purses, and began to think
How he should order his belovèd chink.

He'd hang his lodge with arras weaved with gold
That his successor there might sleep in state,
Or else if some revenues would be sold
He'd give them Darwey, bought at any rate
That all the nuns with prayers and holy names
Might fetch his soul from out the purging flames.

'I'll mend highways, or hospitals repair,
Else build a college, and endow 't with mines.'
Thus did he build his castles in the air
For all's not cash that jingles, gold that shines;
His glassy coin [must] leap out of the mint
Ere on his brow the stamp did current print.

Thus was he gull'd, as once a king of France
Paid a French monsieur for a prancing steed--
Gave him a purse whose richness did enhance
Th' enclosèd gem, supposed a noble meed,
But when for golden mountains he did gape,
He oped the purse, and only found a rape.

'Oh! what full anger redded o'er his looks!
What tides of rage and fury swelled his spleen!
He curseth her with candles, bells, and books;
And vowed ere long on her to wreak his teen.
'Ah me!' quoth he, 'such brittle things are lasses
Which one poor letter changeth unto glasses.'

Felice, now perceiving all was quiet,
Hearing no noise, unless a belly-blast
Which might proceed from an unwholesome diet,
Tied her apparel on with nimble haste,
And, coming to the lodge, with knuckle knock
She strove to summon out the lazy frock.

But the grim Tartar was so soundly lulled,
Without a dram of opium, steeped in ale--
Tirèd with vexing that he was so gulled--
That all Felice's rappings naught avail;
Till, vexèd with demurs she knock'd so loud,
It raised a thunder like a breaking cloud.

Just at that moment did Pazzell' awake
From an affrighting dream, wherein she saw
A dreadful lion her Felice take,
And tear her body with his sharp'ned paw;
And hearing this shrill noise, fear said 'twas true,
Danger did threaten her monastic crew.

Her frosted limbs she heavèd out of bed,
And shelled her body in her night-apparel,
Arming her hands with pistols stuffed with lead,
Which anger firing, with the air did quarrel,
And, groping in the dark, her foot did slip,
Which out o' th' barrels made the bullets skip.

Felice, at that thunder-clap amazed,
With haste retired from the porter's cell,
And meeting her, on one another gazed.
The porter, starting up, did ring the bell,
The virgins shrieked, which all made murmurs shrill
Like Irish hubbubs in pursuit of ill.

When reason somewhat had becalmed their rage,
The abbotess Felice sharply checked.
'Madam,' says she, 'I only came t' assuage
Intestine heats which all my body decked
In scarlet dye; and being much appalled,
With frisking fairies, I the porter called.'

'Go, go, you are a wanton girl,' quoth she,
'That fain would tempt my porter unto folly.'
'Madam,' Felice said, 'you injure me.
Sure, if lascivious I had been so jolly,
I might have met with many men more able,
Before I did invest myself with sable.'

'Oh madam! madam!' mad Avaro cried,
'Why do you think she could o'ercome your frock?
I ne'er did yield, yet have been often tried;
My courage hath withstood a greater shock.
Yet sure she would--she would have passed the gates;
The reason why, forsooth, to gather dates.

I am afraid your dukedom-girl does long
Not for the porter, he is out of date;
But for an oily cavalier that 's strong,
May teach her virginship a mother's fate.
Madam, look well; see if you miss no glass,
I'm sure with brittle coin she gulled an ass.'

Then told the story: Piazzella fretted,
'This is the jewel which you would have sought
When in all haste from hence you would have jetted!
What your intendments were my wisdom thought,
I'll have no gadders, and t' allay your heat
I have a diet will prevent a sweat.'

In a retired room she locked her up,
Devoid of lustful mates with her to play;
Allowed her pulse, and juice of clouds to sup,
And bade her scores of Ave Maries say.
Three artificial days she lodgèd there,
Where every day to her did seem a year.

When she had paid this penance for her crime
(Which in her judgement was accounted bad),
She was again amongst the virgins prime,
On promise that she would not henceforth gad.
Yet still she plotted, but where'er she went,
The angry destines thwarted her intent.

Then, from Bellam' since walls did her encell,
She thought t' employ her talent to the best.
One of the virgins had some vogliarell,
And earnestly desir'd with her to rest.
Who ere the morn did Piacinto sing,
And wore her blushes on her rubied ring.

Next night she chose another, then another;
Her curious palate so to novels stood,
That every one had hope to be a mother,
And near of kin, united in one blood.
But yet, alas! this pleasure lasted not:
Their virgin-girdles could not keep their knot.

Not many fortnights after they had took
These physic-potions from their doctor's reins,
One told her folly by her meagre look,
Another had more blue than on her veins,
Others were qualmish, and another longs:
All spake their pleasures, yet all held their tongues.

One long'd for citrons, and another grapes,
That grew on Alps' steep height, others for peaches;
One strangely did desire the tails of apes
Steepèd in juice of myrtles, holms, and beeches.
Some palates must be fed with implumed quails,
And nothing must approach this tongue but rails.

Some longed for crayfish, shrimps, cods, plaice, and oysters;
One for a lemon that doth grow on thorns;
Another longeth for some blood of roisters,
Spiced with the scrapings of pale Cynthia's horns;
One on the bosom of the matron skips,
And spite of her full nose did gnaw her lips;

One bade them fill an orc of Bacchus water,
Her thirsty soul she said would drain a tun;
One from her window bids a poor translator
Cut her a cantle of the gaudy sun;
But above all I like that witty girl,
Which longed to feed upon a glorrah earl.

The jealous matron with suspicious eye
Did read their common ill in every face;
Espied the breach of their virginity,
And feared a plantage with an infant race.
Yet still suppressed her knowledge, till at last
Their heaving bellies kissed their thick'ned waist.

She then, with friendly summonings, did call
The grave lord abbot and his smooth-chin race;
Who, coachèd, came unto the virgin-hall,
But all the rabble through the vault did pace.
Arrivèd here, she cookèd dainty cates
To please the abbot and his tempo-pates.

So called a council 'bout her quondam maids--
Each one admiring who durst be so bold,
Since none had entrance, nor the virgins strayed,
And for the porter he was known too cold.
The prior feared lest one of his square caps
Should guilty be of those upheaving laps.

It was decreed that they all should be
Shrived, being sejoinèd from each other's ken;
But, ere that time, the teemers did decree
What answer to return the shriving men.
Felice did instruct them to deny
That she gave birth unto their pregnancy.

But they should say, and to that saying seal,
With strong asseverations that 'Into
Our fast-locked room a youthful blade did steal,
And with the best of wooing did us woo.
Our cases are the same with Merlin's mother:
We think our lover was his father's brother.

'Twas one man's act, or, clothed with human shape,
He was angelical; and this we thought
Because there was no semblance of a rape.
We gave him our assent as soon as sought.
We judged unmaiding better in the dark
Than, Daphne-like, an husking o'er with bark.'

The shrivers to their lords return with smiles,
And on their looks a joy ovall chhriots' had, [*]2453
Said they confessèd them with zeal and wiles,
And by a plain narration knew the dad--
One of those ever-youthfuls came from heaven,
And in the virgins' wombs did lay a leaven.

The abbot at this news did much rejoice,
Since with a kind aspect the Virgin Lady,
Viewing this nunn'ry, did ordain this choice,
And for the issue did appoint this daddy.
They shall be prophets, priests of high renown,
And virgins which shall keep their bellies down.

Provide them childbed linen, mantles, swaddles,
Rockers and nurses, all officious shes,
With rattles, corals, little cars, and cradles,
And give them beads to wait upon their knees.
Rome's high arch-vicar shall a testate be
To the first-born whom Nature makes a he.

Take pens, and smooth-strain anthems write in bays,
Make new orisons unto all the saints,
And to Lucina chant invoking lays,
To move her pity these young mothers' plaints;
Say her fair temple need not fear the flame,
Whilst here she wins her an eternal fame.

Felice smiled to see their studied care,
To foster whom she at her pleasure got.
But Piazzella, starting from her chair,
Callèd Felice to survey her knot,
And finding it as at the first 'twas tied,
'How 'scapèd you this goddy sire?' she cried.

'Madam,' quoth he--Felice, 'I confess
I was a party in those spruce delights;
But Nature curseth some with barrenness,
As (I have heard) Albertus Magnus writes.
So that though my desires were full as big,
I was not heavèd with that curtain jig!

Reason fortasse's on her words did stamp,
Which did entruth them (though they were but squibs).
This done, the prior did remove his camp,
And all the friars, with hemp-girdled ribs,
All great with expectation, and as fain
Would be delivered as the full-flanked train.

They sung canzones ere the sun could rise,
And Ave-Maries out of number said,
Lucina wond'red at this strange disguise,
That nuns and monks to her devoutly prayed.
All beads were rattled, and all saints invoked,
Some squealed, some tenored, and some hoarsely croaked.

With this conceit, Felice frolic grew,
And sported bravely in the silent hours.
Her bed-mates call'd her Angel; yet none knew
That 'twas Albino which had cropped their flowers.
But, though they revelled in the night, the day
Threw hailstorms on their lust to chill their play.

Yet had their pleasure not a grandsire life,
For tattling slumbers did their joys untone.
'You vowed, Felice, I should be your wife,'
Says Cloe, 'ere you loosed my virgin-zone,
But ah!' so waked, and feared her vocal slumber
Would from her eyelids force a Trent and Humber.

Says Phill', 'Felice, had I known at first
You only wore the name of Folco's daughter,
I would have suff'red an untamèd thirst
Ere lust had brought mine honour unto slaughter,
But oh----' and, starting up, she feared her dream
Would ere 'twas long obscure joy's mirthful gleam.

'Well, well,' says Floris, ''tis an happy change
To loose mine honour for an angel-mate,
But angels will not house in such a grange:
This is the offspring of Felice's pate.
But ah----' so sighed, and sighing causèd fears
Lest her plump rosies should be ploughed with tears.

Yet, you must know, the virgins did not use
To blab their private actions in a dream,
But that the cunning matron did infuse
Some atoms of the Quiris into cream;
And, ere they were enclosed in Somnus' arms,
She drenched their fancies in these liquid charms.

Then, with unsealèd eyes, she made her ears
Keep privy watch to intercept their talk:
Yet would have washed her knowledge out with tears,
And wished it written in her mind with chalk.
One while she thanked the God of slumber, then,
Her curses threw him down to Pluto's den.

But when Aurora, in her tissue vest,
Mantled with blushes, rose from Tithon's side,
And through a casement of th' adorèd east
Sent Phosphorus to usher in her pride--
Ere Phoebus our horizon did array
With silver glitter of the blooming day--

She snatched her termers from the sweet embrace,
And golden fetters of death's elder brother,
Bidding them hence those deading slumbers chase
T' implore the favour of the Virgin-mother.
They starting up with more than common speed,
Each shelled her body in her modest weed.

So called to chapel those whose pregnant wombs
The angel's pills had heaved above their waists,
Like to a surfeit ta'en of Hybla's combs,
When we are too indulgent to our tastes.
But left Felice out to cut or sew,
Or to embroider with the lanky crew.

Which made a sudden faintness loose each part,
And every joint was like an aspen leaf;
Her rosy twins retired to her heart,
Her looks were coloured like a sunburnt sheaf,
As the stiff bristles of an aged boar
Were her smooth locks, which o'er her cheeks she wore

And juster cause had none than she to fear,
For as from quiet slumber she awoke
She heard the ptisick pick Pazzella's ear
That she had knowledge of what Floris spoke.
And now she doubted all would come to th' scanning
Their longing, swelling and their sudden wanning.

The virgins wondered at Felice's change,
To see her eyes fix'd in a white-limed wall;
Each feared herself, and each conceived 'twas strange
Lest the disease was epidemical:--
That Merlin's uncle changed Felice's hue,
And streaked their temples with a purple blue.

But leave her sighing with these sterile dames,
We'll crowd into the house of sacred vows
Where consciousness, begetting female shames,
Spread scarlet carpets on their cheeks and brows.
They looked, and blushed, and glanced on one another:
Each cursed the minute which did dub her mother.

The holy brethren, through the mouldy pipe,
At that same time did unexpected come,
To know if th' goddy issue yet was ripe
To give adieu unto their skin-sealed home.
But viewing still their wombs, with zealous hands,
They prayed Lucina to untie their bands.

Their chantings dead, the abbotess began;
'Brethren, you see what sad misfortune haps
Unto my virgins by the oil of man,
Witness the heaving of their spongy paps.
We of an angel dreamed, but if he was
He shall hereafter for an evil pass.

'I made their slumbers vocal, so they told
'Twas Folco's duke's supposèd daughter's work.
Larved with that name, it seems some roister bold
Them to unvirgin cunningly did lurk.
But since 'tis so, the proverb shall stand good,
Tart sauces must be mixed with luscious food.

I knew him to be wanton, and to chill
The raging heat of his unbridled lust,
I doomed him three days' penance, judged an ill
Would make him sapless as the summer's dust.
But since that failed, days shall be chang'd to years,
Minutes to months, till paid his tribute tears.

I'll try if grief will drain his melting reins,
And hang a crutch upon his able back;
If sorrow will unblood his swelling veins
And make his sinews, shrunk with famine, crack.
I'll make a purgatory, where with hunger,
Frost, flame, and snow, I'll tame my virgin-monger.

I'll give command a dungeon shall be made,
To whose close womb the sun shall never pry,
Nor Cynthia dare to peep: for gloomy shade
Like cloudy night shall purblind every eye:
Bare measure four-foot broad; and for that height
'T shall make him by constraint, not court, lie slight.

A bedstead hewn out of the craggy rock,
Not arched with cedar wainscot, knobbed with gold;
His bed no shrinker, but a sturdy flock,
Swans shall not be deplumed his limbs t'infold.
Nor curtained with the travails of the loom
Of poor Arachne, ere she had her doom.

I will not spend the ransom of a crown
For curious dainties to delight his taste.
I'll fetch no fowls from off the Parthian down,
Or Phaenicopter for luxurious waste.
I will no mullet from Corsica take,
Oysters from Circe's or the Lucrine lake.

I will allow him pottage, thicked with bran,
Of barley-meal a choenix every day,
A sovereign diet for a frolic man
That is affected with the Paphian play.
And lest his stomach should too chol'ric grow,
I will afford him some congealed snow.'

The bald-pate crew this penance well approved,
And, in a trice, all things she ready got.
So well she stirred her stumps (as it behoved)
She being hatcher of this starving plot.
This done, with friendly words and courteous air,
She called Felice to her house of prayer.

'It suits not with your greatness, madam fair,
Being sole daughter to so great a man,
To lodge with those which your inferiors are,
As much as is an inch unto a span,
And I'm afraid the Duke will fume and swear,
Should but your lodging step into his ear.'

'Madam,' quoth she, 'you harbour needless fears.
Goodness, not greatness, differenceth maids.
My father's no tobacconist; and swears
In point of honour like our scarlet blades.
And, by my faith, it more contenteth me
To sheet with maidens though of mean degree.

I am surchargèd with the black-hued choler,
Which strikes my fancy with most ugly shapes.
I durst not rest a-darkness for a dolour,
Without a pillow-friend to scare those apes:
Let Cloe with conceits my spirits wing,
Or melancholy will my requiem sing.'

'You shall,' says she, 'have Sesamoidesse.
For all entreats are of too dull a print.

We must respect your father's worthiness,
His honour must your love and passions stint,
And your own worth must highly be regarded,
How shall I else expect to be rewarded?'

Then did she take her by the tender hand,
And led her to her grot in princely state.
She feared not much, nor did her will withstand,
Judging divorcement was her harshest fate;
But when she saw the entrance was so narrow
A sudden fear did eat up all her marrow.

Pazzella, viewing her supposèd lass,
Repented her of her intended ills;
But injuries engraven are on brass,
And women's jointures are to have their wills.
And lest remorse should chill her angry mood,
Fuel was added by the brotherhood.

'Then,' says she, 'madam, you behold the cage
Which I preparèd for your honour's good,
Where you may spend the autumn of your age.
Till age and winter have congealed your blood.
You may retire to ease: for envy can
Nor dares to say you're not an able man.

When twice ten circled snakes are crawled away,
You shall enjoy companions masculine,
To give instructions in that youthful play
Is fed with Ceres and the god of wine.
And, if my virgins shall hereafter be
Lascivious given, I will send for thee.'

Into this coven was Felice thrust,
With bars and locks the entrance sealèd fast,
Now must he pay a dear rate for his lust,
His curtain-vezzo, and the coral taste.
Sure his repentance will be full as dear
As the philosopher's non tanti were.

Ah, foppish monk! did not Bellama's 'no'
Give thee a warning-piece presaging danger,
But thou must headlong rush upon thy woe?
Happy's that man which is to lust a stranger!
If this of dalliance is the constant fee,
Let them d----dally that do list, for me.

Here, when the barking star his sceptre waved,
When in our clime we feel an Ethiope's heat,
An undervault the subtil matron paved,
With fire and flame to force a constant sweat,
That, as from flowers hot limbecks water 'still,
So by this stove from him sweat-currents drill.

Then, for the winter season she provided
A melting cloud full fraught with feath'red rain
(Whose curious art the air-borne clouds derided),
Which through some oillet holes might passage gain.
His cabin should have been, like Alps' cold height,
Mantled and strewèd o'er with winter's white.

And 'twas so dark, I cannot see to write.
Nay, at a nonplus it all pencils sets.
'Twas hell's epitome, the cage of night,
Walled in with pitch and roofed o'er with jets.
The lynx at midday here would wish for day,
And cats without a torch must grope their way.

But leave him labyrinthed and thus distressed,
And see Bellama, and examine how
She brooks the absence of her bosom-guest,
If discontent does revel on her brow.
It does: for why, she dreams and never sleeps,
She feeds and fats not, laughs, but ever weeps.

'Disaster hangs upon Albino gyves,'
Says she, 'else Envy keeps him prisoner,
Or a new bull does interdict them wives,
So seals the lips of my petitioner.
Else the smirk knave is so devout in pray'r,
He has no time to kiss the common air.

But does he love? or is 't a fit of mirth,
Which, like to children's fancies, soon expire
Ere language or employment give them birth,
Flashing affections, aged like thunder-fire?
His eyes shot Cupids at my yielding heart,
But his firm breast repelled my feeble dart.

Perchance he judged my forwardness to love,
By too much court'sy, and my frequent glances.
So thought in jest my willingness to prove,
Not with that sober passion which entrances;
But with lip-love, which to the heart ne'er sinks,
And paper-vows which take their birth from inks.

But stay: does greatness use to be denied?
Beauty and bravery command a grant.
Yet might my looks and carriage plumed with pride
His humble and untow'ring spirit daunt.
Daunt? no: his soul's a temper most divine,
Dares soar aloft to kiss the sun's near shine.

Then love he does: but must this action, woo,
Be tied by patent only unto men?
Some unfrequented paths of love I'll go,
And in some riddles court him by my pen.
Yet first to th' abbey I'll dispatch a post,
To make inquiry where my monk doth host.'

The merchant is not with desires so big,
When as he ploughs the sea for Indian mines;
With slower steps the sons of Bacchus trig
To sack-shops for the French and Spanish wines;
Than she to Tagus bids her servant go
To Croftfull Abbey where her wishes grow.

Gone is the messenger: but small success
Waits on his travels, for he back returns
With, 'Madam, where Albino's none can guess.
They think his ashes are enclosed in urns.
For time, say they, has counted fortnights many,
Since his choice feature object was to any.'

This answer shot an hailstorm at her heart,
Whose sudden chillness jellied all her blood,
Sh' applièd Holco to unscrew the dart,
But her assayments brought her little good.
For, but Albino, none can cure her ill,
Not physic potions, or the druggard's skill.

'Ah me! has Fate my dear Albino ta'en?
Then farewell music, and you sprucing trade;
Either my tears shall body him again,
Or send my ghost to wait upon his shade.
For she is judged a light unconstant lover,
Whose flame the ashes of neglect can cover.'

Have you beheld how, when the moors and marsh
Belch vapours to blemish bright Titan's eye,
They with his rays wage conflicts long and harsh,
Confining them unto their proper sky
(Bribèd perchance by envious night to wrap
Day and his champion in his sooty lap).

So that to us appears nor sun nor day,
And only faith persuades us there is both,
Till day and sun call in each straggling ray,
And force a passage, spite of fume and froth:
Yet then the day but newly seems to dawn,
And o'er the sun a veil of cypress drawn.

Just so diseasing sorrow, armed with tears,
Sighs, and black melancholy veiled her face;
So that no ray of loveliness appears,
And only faith persuades us she has grace.
Her eyes retired, her double blush was wanned,
Her locks dissevered, and her lilies tanned.

And as, in her which arted looks does wear,
Men look for nature's steps, and cannot trace her;
Since she, by nature nothing less than fair,
Hath purchased from the shops such worth to grace her;
Though foul, now fair and sleek, though age did plough
And made long furrows in her cheek and brow.

So knowledge here was in a maze: the eye,
That knew Bellama, did Bellama seek,
And, looking on her, nothing could descry
Spake her Bellama, or in eye or cheek.
To love's harsh laws she gave such constant duty,
Sh'ad only left an anagram of beauty.

She threw herself upon her couch of ease,
And marshalled all her thoughts in just arrays;
This brought small comfort, that did hardly please,
And in that thought despair the sceptre sways.
Yet thought she not death could a period set,
Unless he did some strange advantage get.

'He's young and lusty: every vein does swell
With aqua-vitae, coral juice of life;
His skill in magic else can frame a spell
To distance meagre death and Atrop's knife.
Yet love gives birth to fear: I'll send to search
The lion's flinty bed, and vulture's perch.

I and my woman will attend the quest,
Veiled in disguises of some country lasses;
No state-distinction, for my humble breast
Shall leave all pride with silks, perfumes, and glasses;
And, if with non inventus we return,
I'll Venus' witchcraft hate and Cupid spurn.'

When as the sovereign of the day had drawn
A veil of brightness o'er the twinkling lamps,
And threw on Cynthia's brow a double lawn,
Clearing the welkin from benighting damps,
They in the habits of a milking maid
(All but skin-linen) did their beauties shade.

And in these coarse attires they hasted out
To seek Albino through each wood and plain,
Whom we will leave to pace the world about
And see Felice, wet with eye-lid rain,
Whose bondage was the greater, since despair
Blasted all hopes which promised her the air.

The brazen bull, strappado, or the rack,
The faggot-torture, and the piked barrell,
Balanced with his, degrees of sorrow lack:
'Tis with a bulrush to decide a quarrel.
The famine wherewithal the Thracian knight
Was sent to Pluto wants a little weight.

He that stole fire fro' th' chariot of the Sun,
Whose liver's vulture-gnawn at Caucasus;
He that the counsels of the gods unspun,
Like wanton's eyes, stone-rolling Sisyphus;
Hold best proportion with these sharp'ned woes,
Which stern misfortune on Felice throws.

She, that was glutted with most curious cates,
Had every pleasure to content her lust,
Who had command o'er Fortune and the Fates,
Now sups up pulse and gnaws a fleecèd crust.
She that had many girls is now alone,
And of so many cannot compass one.

Had I a fancy steeped in sorrow's brine,
Invention witty in the threnes of woe;
Could sad experience dictate every line,
A dearth of words would to my muse say 'No'.
I may as well go fathom all the spheres
As measure her disasters, count her tears.

Oft on remembrance of that harmless bliss,
Which (copèd) she enjoyed, her thoughts would feed,
Oft on Bellama's beauty, touch and kiss,
Till strucken dead with thought of present need.
Then would she raise her thoughts, and hope for day,
And starting up from silence boldly say:

'Despite of Envy's vipers, tricks, and wiles,
My cradle-playmate, Mirth, I'll ne'er forsake,
But taste Sardinian herbs shall raise up smiles,
Though I was wafting o'er the Stygian lake.
Tortures shall ne'er unman me; but I'll be
Albino, Malice, 'spite of her and thee.

Delays ofttimes, from time's secluded parts,
Bring help to helpless not expecting aid;
Some of the gods will pity these my smarts,
Not suffer them to whet the sexton's spade.
Or if the gods--'midst flames then scorpion-like
I'll gore my breast, and fall on mine own pike.

Yet had I suff'red for a courteous one,
These woes should ne'er had power t' have raised a sorrow
But when mine eyes did in my breast enthrone
Her--her of whom hell cruelty may borrow.
This is the height of woe, death, and diseases,
Nay, hell itself to this comparèd pleases.

Yet stay, say Neptune's palace shall be land,
And this firm ball of earth a liquid brack;
Say the North Pole with Phoebus shall be tanned,
And to the South the lilies shall be black.
Say this, and more, before thou dare to say
Bellama is Màboun' or Mà bellà.'

No more of this: we'll for her freedom plot.
A pious monk, perceiving well her smart,
With diligence assayed to purge each spot
With holy cruse from her diviner part.
But still her answer was--nor man, nor lover,
Nor she the virgin's ankles did discover.

'Alas! my brother I am not a male,
But a weak sience of the weaker sex.
The ladies spake the truth (might truth prevail)
But me with torture Piazell' doth vex;
'Cause, at my entrance, I did promise fair;
Yet 't proves court-language, merely, purely, air.

But all this time she would not licence deign
That I three yards behind should leave the gates,
And fumèd when I would have left her train,
T' have sought a jewel, and to gather dates.
So that the Duke my father ne'er had ken
Of my encloist'ring in this hate-light den.

But, 'gainst it now resolving, I intend
To turn the stream of his munificence
On you, dear brother, if you'll be my friend,
And plot how I may be delivered hence.
Lend your endeavours: and I'll lend my wit,
Vow faithfulness, and I will warrant it.

I'll woo my father for his free assent,
If to your barren cowl you'll bid farewell,
That Hymen's rites may perfect our content,
By joyful echoes of the marriage bell.
'Cause you in person do resemble him
Whom 'mongst all men I only judgèd trim.'

The monk gave ear unto her winning prate
And gazèd on her beauty masculine,
Whose feature might delude a wiser pate,
Assisted only by a tallow-shine.
(For by an unctious salve she kept her chin
From the hair-mantle of an agèd skin.)

'Madam', says he, 'I judge your language true,
And to your vows I dare my credence lace:
Your virgin-blushes innocence do show,
And modesty is printed on your face.
Faith, truth, and honesty reside with me:
My best endeavours shall your servants be.'

'Well,' says Felice, 'I have now decreed
(Since Phoebus has forsook our hemisphere),
To sheath my body in your holy weed,
Then through the private walk my course will steer.
So from your holy walls I'll take my flight,
Or by permission, or in silent night.

And when I am arrived at Folco's towers,
My father shall your matchless kindness know,
Who, I am sure, will summon all his powers
To fetch thee from this house of flame and snow:
And who with much contentment will not brook
Some three days' penance to be made a duke?

For, by inheritance, the dukedom's mine
When death unbody shall my father's soul.
Since no heir-male's descended from our line,
The Salic law cannot my right control.
And, to assure thee that I'm only thine,
I swear by all the powers that are divine.'

Then did she circle with ensphering arm
Conrado's neck and amorously him lipp'd,
Which did the amorist so strongly charm
That he with haste out of his vestments skipped,
And bade Felice change: for in good deed
He should full well become her virgin weed.

Felice undressed, and dressed, and having made
Herself a monk, put on Conrado's face,
And some few minutes with her monkship played,
Then gave a farewell to that hated place.
But ere her quick dispatch could post her thence
Her beauty shot a fire through every sense.

Fear now exiled the confidence he tied,
Forced by affection, to Felice's words,
Revoked his promise now,--all aid denied;
And, with majestic looks and gesture's lords
His flaming lust dissolved his pious snow,
And now his loud desires will have no 'No'.

But vows to disenclothe her and to break
Her virgin-seal despite of force or smiles,
Till Folco strove and made his noddle leak
Sardonic liquor to new-paint the tiles,
So hasted out, and to the matron gave
The iron porter of Conrado's grave.

Imping his haste, he threads the vaulted lane,
Not wounded by his soles this many a day,
Like those which, when arraigned, a pardon gain
Dare neither at the jail nor gallows stay.
And coming to the postern gate he knocked,
Which at devotion time was always locked.

But when the last Amen had silenced prayer,
The porter to Albino entrance gave;
Who straight was brought unto the judgement chair,
Where, furred with state, did sit the abbot grave.
Who said, 'Conrade, why was your stay so long?
You missed the manna of the evensong.'

Pseudo-Conrado answered him, 'My lord,
I found Felice so oppressed with grief,
That charity commanded me t'afford
By learning, prayers, and anthems, some relief.
And truly on my faith I am persuaded
A virgin-lady with these weeds is shaded.

I, moved to pity by her streaming tears,--
Her sighing gales, loud threnes, and sad laments,
Won by her beauty, and her tender years,
Have promised aid, confirmed by your assents,
And in all haste will tell her father's grace
What clouds of woe bemist Felice's face.

She promised me when as her freedom's sealed,
When she shall re-enjoy the glorious light,
When the sad sentence of her woe's repealed
She will be mine in spite of envy's might.
Nay more, she from the dukedom will extract
Some lordships to perform a pious act.'

Forthwith, a synod of the holy men
Was called to broach the wisdom of their pates.
The questions were proposed--"Who? What? and When?
The 'who', is Folco's daughter; 'what', estates;
The 'when', so soon as she, by Folco's powers,
Shall shell her body in proud Gurby's towers.

This answer smelt of profit, and did gain
The abbot's liking, and his griping crew.
Says he, 'Conrado, true content does reign
And triumph in our thoughts: we yield to you.
Success wait on thy voice: for to thy care
Our wishes, hopes, desires, entrusted are.'

'Fear not,' quoth he, 'my faith dares warrant all.
All things are real as my words are true.
Myself will pace unto fair Gurby hall,
And with emphatic language plead and sue:
So that old Folco's lungs shall crack with laughter
To hear me chat the travails of his daughter.

First she, mistrusting that she should be forc'd,
By his proud nod, unto a hated pillow,
From folly, Folco, folk, herself divorced,
To twist, for scornèd maids, some wreaths of willow.
How zealously she prayed, and looked demurely!
She is, in thought and word, a virgin surely.

But the conceit is this--Who bridles laughter,
That virgins holy, pure, and nuns to boot,
Should thicken with the pills of Folco's daughter,
Sing lullabies, and to Lucina hoot?
T' increase the wonder then, and imp his pleasures,
To Folco I'll present these waggish measures.'

Behold, admire, and some contentment gather
From nuns that teem, manned by a virgin-father.

Wonder and admiration cease to gaze
On flashing meteors, stars, and comets' blaze.
Let not Vitruvius or th' Ichonian beast,
Putzol or Etna slide into your breast.
Ope not your ears unto those cracks of thunder,
Whose cannon-echoes split the orbs in sunder.
Lend not your audience to those fond reports
Of Ob'ron, Mabell, and their fairy sports,
Nor tie your credence to the poet's pen
Which writes the noble acts of warlike men,
Of monsters, mooncalves, merry games, and masks,
Atlas' stiff shoulders, and Alcides' tasks.
Amazement flies these babbles, and does pin
Faith, eyes, and thoughts, unto this curtain-sin;
That a pure virgin should unvirgin others,
And, though a virgin, yet make many mothers;
Make them heave up, be qualmish, pale, and cry
'A midwife (ho!) a midwife: else we die.'
It is an Afric crow, a sable swan,
To have a vestal puffèd up with man:
But that so many nuns unmaidened are
B' a nun without a man is more than rare.
The Sybil's virgin is not worth a rush,
And Merlin's mother may with envy blush.
These, though they soared above the pitch of reason,
Yet crossed not nature's order, course, or season.
For women teemed as women, but a woman
As man, makes virgins teem, and yet is no man.
This--this is object unto fame and wonder,
Then make each clime with this Mirandum thunder.

About this time night summoned them to rest,
And each repairèd to his sturdy bed.
Albino's fears his hopes and joys suppressed;
But, in the rest, content struck sorrow dead.
They slept until the bright enlight'ned air,
With silver glitter, called them up to prayer.

But our Albin' took earlier leave of sleep,
And sheathed his body in his monkish vests;
Knocked at his lodge, which did the entrance keep,
Who that he could not wake himself protests:
'Thou art some fury, hag, or Hob I trow,
That boldly at my lodge dost thunder so.'

Albino says, 'What frenzy damps thy reason?
Arise, my haste commands a frequent rap.'
'Begone,' quoth he, 'entreats are out of season.
Worshipful Hob, I'll have another nap.
'Tis not mine hour to rise until I hear
The clapper sound a surge in mine ear.'

When our young monk had many minutes spent,
And could not Foppo from his pillow rear,
About that time light's charioteer had sent
Day's trusty harbinger his orb to clear.
He searched the walls, and trafficked with the lock;
But all in vain, he must implore the frock.

The chapel-clerk, as constant to his hour
As is day's herald which at breaking crows,
Seeing Aurora did his windows scour
And leapt into his chamber, straight arose:
Making the shrill-toned bell in echoes speak,
'Awake and rise to prayer, the day does break.'

Foppo was at that time in Morpheus' court,
Where he with apparitions was affrighted;
The scene was changed, then came a dainty sport,
Whose sudden neatness every sense delighted;
Then dreamt Albine, their renegado monk
Was knocking at his lodge, the other Nunc.

Then dreamt he saw a table richly spread
With all the dainties riot ever felt;
All birds of warrant which in woods are bred,
With salmon, mullet, turbot, trout, and smelt:
The princely-pacing deer, entombed in paste,
Embalmed with spices to delight the taste.

A sparkling wine, drawn newly from the cheek
Of some chaste fair which blushes coloured red,
With brisk canary and enlivening Greek,
Poetic sherry which can sharpen lead--
This ravish'd Foppo with a taste content,
Till to his ear the bell an errand sent.

When, starting up, he deemed the bell did call
His able stomach to a founder's feast,
And with all speed was swogging to the hall,
But that Albino stayed him by the crest,
And lew-warm claret from his hogshead drew
To make his stomach give the deer adieu.

Quoth he, 'Thou son of Somnus, drowsy slave!
Why didst thou not at my loud summons rise?
But in a fit of lunacy did rave
As though thy wit had ta'en some new disguise?
I'll be your Hob, your hag: and, though I'm loath,
Will now chastise thee for thy feignèd sloth.'

But whilst his passion took a breathing space,
The wak'ned porter from his fists did creep,
Fixèd his goggles on his youthful face,
And then rememb'red his prophetic sleep.
Tells him he's not Conrado; for he knows
That brow, those cheeks, lips, eyes, Albino owes.

'And though your wrath should grind me unto powder,
Without a warrant, I will ope no gate.'
This answer made Albino's anger louder,
And vowed a passage, bought at any rate.
So leapt upon the slave with nimble strength,
And measured on the earth his ugly length.

Albino hastes to th' postern; having got
The keys, but 'mongst so many much was puzzled
To find the right; Foppo meanwhile did trot
Unto some chambers where the shavelings nuzzled,
And them with outcries raisèd to surprise
Albino, larvèd in Conrado's guise.

Like penancers with linen on their backs,
The baldpates ran to seize upon their prey;
But yet their haste a semi-moment lacks:
Albino through the gate had found a way.
And, snatching out the keys, did them encage,
Raising a bulwark to withstand their rage.

Then thanked his stars that thus delivered him
From dangers which did threaten naught but death.
For he by th' verge of Mare mort did swim,
And did expect his latest gale to breath.
Nay, these late troubles had him so dishearted
That every shadow 'lmost the union parted.

You, whose disasters some proportion hold,
Help my weak fancy to express his fears;
Teach me my rhymes in cypress to enfold,
From thwarted lovers borrow me some tears;
Fetch me some groans from the ascending thief;
And from the Inquisition fetch me grief.

Without demurs, Albino left the wicket,
Fearing the monks should bribe the faithless lock,
And steered his course unto a well-grown thicket,
Whose lofty hill was armed with many a rock.
He envies sculls that wait on spit and oven,
And vows ne'er more to see that hated coven.

Have you beheld the stately-pacing stag,
Flying the echoes of some deep-mouthed hounds?
How first his brow does wear a ferny flag,
And with curvettings beats the quaking ground;
Telling the fawns and wood-nymphs that he scorns
The hounds, horse, huntsmen, and their warbling horns.

But when he is embossed in blood and sweat,
When travail on his swiftness fetters hangs,
He then is frighted with the shrill recheat,
And fears a pinking with the yellers' fangs.
Seeks ev'rywhere for shelter, and dares rush
Malèd with fear, into the sharpest bush.

So fared it with Albino: whilst he had
Fate at a beck, commanded Fortune's wheel,
Was callèd by his Donnes, active lad,
He thought his joys were wallèd in with steel,
Slighted misfortune, envy set at naught,
And, braving malice, dared in every thought.

But when his tow'ring heart was taught to know
Humiliation, and self-confidence
Was strucken dead with famine, flame, and snow;
Although his genial stars had freed him thence,
He fears the monkish rabble, and he shrouds
Himself in caves, encurtained round with clouds.

In his dark house he heard a feeble voice,
Breathed from the corals of some weak'ned maid.
At first concealment was his better choice,
Till pity set an edge upon his blade.
Then guided by the cry, he saw a roister
Did in his arms perforce a nymph encloister.

Yet, seeing home-spun russet, stopped his pace;
Saying, 'By this what honour shall I gain?'
But in his eye so curious was her face,
Though masked and blubbered o'er with brackish rain,
That he forthwith unsheathed his trusty Turk,
Called forth that blood which in his veins did lurk.

So, stepping forward, cries, 'Injurious slave,
Unto what baseness does thy folly tempt her?'
Who answered him, 'Fond fool, thy foolish brave
From my decreèd end shall not exempt her.
Befriend me, Queen of Cyprus! and in spite
Of force or fortune, I'll have my delight.'

'Desist,' Albino says, 'or else I vow,
By all those tapers which enrich the night,
I'll make pale death strew cypress on thy brow.
And to th' infernal shades thy soul will fright.
Cease from thy brutish rape, or else prepare
Thy cursed lungs to draw the Stygian air.'

Quoth the rude Sylvan, 'I am past that age
Which with bugbears the foppish nurse does fright.
Hence, curtain-squire, smock-groom, and urine-page!
I'll have no testates unto my delight.
Pack hence with speed, or by Actaeon's head,
My weighty falchion shall pronounce thee dead.'

'Well,' says Albino, 'since thou'lt not desist,
Prove the adventures of a bloody duel.
One of our threads fell Atrop's shall untwist,
For to my rage kind pity lendeth fuel.
To free a virgin from thy gripping paws
I judge well pleasing unto nature's laws.'

They clasp'd their helms, and buckled to their fight,
'Twixt whom no umpire was but meagre death.
The woodwards green with Tyrian dye was dight
Who now desires a minute's space to breath.
Albino gave the truce, yet but to breath;
His valour scorned to crowd into the sheath.

Then did his nimble sleight and courage show,
Feigning a stroke, but pointed at his breast,
Which oped a door whereat his spirits flew,
And wellnigh set his fainting soul at rest.
With that th' enfeebled Sylvan weakly cries
'Hold, hold thy hand! or else Sylvanus dies.'

'Dost call for mercy,' says Albino, 'now?
And all thy thoughts erstwhile triumphant rid?
I seek not murder, may I save my vow.
That I should joy in blood my stars forbid.
I am content the virgin's voice shall seal
Thy death, or pardon, if thou make appeal.'

'Fair virgin,' quoth Sylvanus, 'pity is
The only grace that gives a virgin price.
Remission crowns a heart with greater bliss,
Than to hang iron on weak nature's vice.
The rays of your bright beauty urged desire;
Your feature kindled lust, love blowed the fire.'

The virgin answered, 'I did never suck
The tiger's dugs, the lioness, and bear,
Nor from a reeking breast an heart did pluck.
Never will I in blood with vulture's share.
But, since submission speaks from voice and knee,
Kind pity thins the fault, and pardons thee.'

Then to Albino says, 'Heroic youth,
May all the blessings which attend on man
Felicitate thy life; and to buy truth
To words, I dare do more than virgins can.
But, above all, I wish may nature's pride,
Lilies and roses, intertwine thy bride.

But yet alas! to recompense by airs
So large a bounty and so free is poor.
Yet why may not a spotless virgin's prayers,
Wing'd with desire, unclasp high heaven's door?
Accept of this, and if the Fates befriend me,
These blessings which I wished for shall attend thee.'

'Nature's sole wonder, beauty's only gem,'
Quoth he, 'my valour and my feeble arms
(If your perfections had not strenght'ned them)
Could not have freed you from intended harms.
Ascribe the honour to your matchless face.
My courage merits not the meanest place.

Yet had I swum through seas of steaming blood,
And passed through nitre flames that belch forth lead,
Had all the Furies armed with vipers stood,
T' have stopped my passage or pronounced me dead--
I would have thrown the die my fortune tried,
T' have bought you freedom though in crimson dyed.

For, when mine eyes sent forth the farthest glance,
To fetch th' idea of your beauty in,
That very sight my senses did entrance,
And make my thoughts excuse Sylvanus' sin.
For sure your quick'ning rays can melt a snow
On which the winds of age and sorrow blow.

But why do I upon the Ela raise
Thy noble worth, and yet intend to woo?
Since beauty oft displays her plumes at praise,
Then by this doing I myself undo.
But where I virtues find, refined as gold,
Despair shall never make affections cold.

Be pleasèd then to think the god of Love
With gilded arrow has transfixed my heart,
And let my purple breast your pity move.
With balsam of regard allay my smart,
Send thy quick eyes into my breast to see,
What tortures prick my heart to purchase thee.'

'Sir, I am grieved,' quoth she, 'you are allied
To him whose quiver crowns a lover's wish.
Else at a twelve-score distance might y' have spied
You cast your net to mesh a simple fish.
Your worth and feature does entitle you
To Cytherea with her silver hue.

When I, alas! am but an homely maid,
Born to a spindle and to serve a plough.
To milk my spongy-teated cows I strayed,
Which here amongst these tender hazels low.
My starvèd fortunes cannot think of love,
Nor does my envy wound the billing dove.'

This answer silencèd Albino's hopes,
Which spake as loud as though they kissed the sheets;
He in his thoughts commends the quiet copes
Which taste no sour in hunting after sweets.
'Alcides' life,' quoth he, 'compared to mine,
Is trouble-free, spiced with contents divine.

Fair maid, what hatred frosteth your desires?
What steams of envy choke bright Venus' lamp?
Give some kind fuel to maintain my fires,
A frown of yours will all my vitals damp.
Oil o'er my writhled heart, or let me know
From what black heads these bitter cadents flow.'

'Your favours, sir, have such commanding power,
That 'tis unjust your wishes to deny,
Accursed with all black tempests be that hour
In which my heart gave credit to mine eye.
Else would I not have been so much averse
T' a mind so noble and a feature terse.

But now alas! myself myself am not,
For heartless I my heart have giv'n away:
An abbey-brother has that treasure got,
Albino hight--he's Phoebus of my day.
Your habit speaks you a monk, sir, if you can
Tell me where I may find that (ah me) man.

Be pleased,' quoth she, 'to tell me where I may,
Or go myself, or else a servant send.'
'Fair maid,' quoth he, 'it is a gloomy way
Leads to the bed of your benighted friend.
His ashes are in Darwey Abbey laid,
But his faint ghost walks i' th' Elysian shade.'

'But is he dead?' says she, and loudly shrieked,
Which waked Narcissus' hate to second her,
Her rosies dewed with melting crystal reeked,
And sorrow did her trembling heart inter.
Symptoms of sad deplorings ne'er were known,
Which were not in her sharp lamentings shown.

'Choice maid,' quoth he, 'do not destroy your rosies,
And blast your beauty with such scalding sighs.
In nature's garden there are choicer posies,
More comely features, and more agile thighs.
What though Albino's dead? another may
Be trulier termed the Phoebus of your day.'

'Oh, do not stain,' says she, 'his spotless name!
Within his bosom every virtue ranged.
Equals to him dull nature cannot frame,
Though she should labour till herself be changed:
It is a shame to ask more favours yet:
Grant me this one, because my sun is set.

My pity saved, when as your fury had
The rough-pawed Sylvan mincèd with your skene.
Oh, with same courage let your mind be clad,
With your sharp scimitar my liver dreane.
Why should I be a liver, since he's dead
Who was my hope, my health, my heart, my head'.

'How am I chang'd!' quoth he, 'my heart does beat
The fainting summons of the Child of Sin.
My knees do quarrel, and a chilling sweat
Cold as the dew of winter oils my skin.
Fear snatcheth from my roseate banks their blood,
And drowns my liver in a sanguine flood.

'Tis strange a naked breast of bleachèd snow,
And crystal mounts enriched with coral heads,
(On which the purple violets do grow)
Should dare mine arm, and strike my courage dead.
My steel a breast of iron has unhinged.
And knees of brass have to my fury cringed.

Had some vast Gog or he whom Tellus brought--
One got by Fury or Gradivus' mate--
Who, but with monsters, ne'er conversed with ought,
Dared with a look, mine arm had weak'ned Fate.
But, at this feeble voice my blood does start,
And into pity melts my swelling heart.

Then name no more those words: for they at once
Do both unedge my valour and my steel.
Too safely do your virtues keep the sconce.
My steadiest thoughts, struck with these letters, reel.
My sacrilegious hand shall never stain
Virtue's sole temple, and the grace's fane.

Dry up those furrowing cadents. Will you give
Your lovely self in marriage unto him,
If I shall say Albino yours does live,
And in your view his comely portrait limn?
Say, aye, to this: and I will try my skill,
To make him pace along yon craggy hill.'

''Tis the countenance which my wishes crave,
Naught half so sweet,' says she, 'as Hymen's tedes.'
Albino then the haired earth did shave,
And hedged two circles in with ropes of beads;
Then, quart'ring them, did take the virgin's hand,
And bade her with unshaken courage stand.

'Thou must not be surpris'd with shivering fear,
Though Cerberus, the janitor of Hell,
Though seven-headed Hydra, panther, bear,
The lion, tiger, or the dragon yell;
Although a monster spits forth flashing powder,
Though clouds and winds strive which should bellow louder.'

This said, with cruse of holy water he
Besprinkled o'er himself, besprinkled her,
And zealously did cross: the same did she,
Like a devout Romezzo conjurer.
This done: 'Fair maid,' quoth he, 'if Fates befriend me,
The servant of your beauty shall attend thee.'

Then 'gan [he] to invoke, or seem t' invoke,
With uncouth language the infernal crew--
'Vitz, Allafoun, Trallasht with elfish poke,
Trollox and Chimchish, with your grisly hue,
Gnarzell and Phrizoll which in Styx do wade,
Lê portè Albino from the Stygian shade.'

When from his lips these words had ta'en their flight,
A shuffling whirl-puff roared amongst the trees,
Th' affrighted leaves took flight, the grass looked white,
The quaking poplars fell upon their knees.
Jove's sacred tree stood cringing unto it,
And bowed his head, else 'twas in sunder split.

Then, from a breaking cloud, a sheet of fire
Encircled them, and dashed against an oak,
Ush'ring a thunder, whose untamed ire
Like dreadful tyrants naught but terror spoke.
And as unwilling to depart from them
His ireful cracks the trembling grove did hem.

These, suddenly succeeding so the first,
And at that instant when he feigned a spell,
Did make Albino judge himself accursed,
Thinking his voice unhinged the gates of hell.
Bellama's rosies wore as white as snow,
As though the Phyma did upon them blow.

And justly, for though these but common were,
Yet at that time when faintness kept the wicket,
Which at each shadow oped the gate to fear,
In that dark place, that unfrequented thicket--
I blame not though her courage had been colder,
And in art magic wish Albino bolder.

But when the storm was passed, his courage got
The conquest of his fear, made his quick eyes
Stand sentinel t' advantage more his plot:
And, looking from the mountain, he espies
A man descending, as he told the maid,
Which the loud tempest of his fears allayed.

Then says, 'Behold the object of your hope'.
Away springs she from off that gloomy place,
Posts to the hill, forsakes her magic cope.
Meanwhile Albino doffs Conrado's face,
And set upon his looks Albino's dye;
So, imped with love, unto the mount did fly.

Where he espied Bellama rove about
Crying, 'Albino, dost thou fly from me?'
The man was but a silly shepherd lout
That climbed the hill his fleecy train to see.
And when his eyes had healthed his wealthy flocks,
Trudged to his cote, walled in with sturdy rocks.

Albin', encount'ring her, says, 'Lovely maid,
Was 't your small voice that did Albino call?'
''Twas I, poor I', the fainting virgin said,
'Why was I forced from Rhadamanthus' hall?'
'Who was 't, quoth he, 'that, with commanding air,
Snatch'd me forth' arms of Proserpina fair?'

'It was a courteous monk,' quoth she, 'whom I
Humbly entreated to deliver thee.'
'Alas! sweet maid,' quoth he, 'Fates do deny
Freedom from thence, nor can I pay the fee.
'Fee!' says she, 'fear not: if an earldom can
Purchase thy freedom, I will give it, man.'

'Thou canst not ransom one from Pluto's jail,
Shouldst thou lay down the gaudy triple crown;
With steely-hearted Fate naught can prevail,
On whose harsh brow there ever dwells a frown.
Speak fair, thy business: for I must begone,
Grim Charon waits for me at Acheron.'

'Ah me,' quoth she, 'and is it truth I hear?
Then, dear Albino, I will wait on thee.'
'You're like to find', quoth he, 'but homely cheer,
If in my diet you partake with me.'
'Famine's a favour unto me,' says she,
'Bridewell a bride-house, if I live with thee.

But, prithee, what is Rhadamanthus fell,
And she whom thou didst Proserpina call?'
'Sweetest,' quoth he, 'he is the judge of hell,
That dooms us tortures, or does us enthral.
For, if our innocence do plead for us,
We're led t' Elysium from dark Erebus.

That other was the Thracian harper-mate,
Whom Pluto forced unto his gloomy house,
His devilship with smiles to recreate,
Full bowls of his nepenthe to carouse.'
'I'm glad I know', quoth she, 'for jealous fears
Unto my heart did travel from my ears.'

'Why, lovely maid, did ever I behold
Before this time', quoth he, 'your comely face?'
'How! dear Albino, must you now be told
Who your Bellama is? 'tis high disgrace.
Sure you of Lethe's streams have deeply drank,
Which doth the powers of your mind disrank.'

'Ha!' quoth Albino, 'can my dullness think
That homely russets my Bellama veil?
I deeply of oblivion sure did drink,
Did I not know her from a milking pail.
Peace, pretty fair, do not my saints profane,
Her beauty has not such coarse lodging ta'en.'

'Well,' quoth Bellama, 'will you me discard,
When for your sake I've run through all disasters?
Must slights and nescios now be my reward?
Will you make ulcers, and apply no plasters?
Clothed in this coarse array, I roved abroad
To find the place of thy secure abode.'

'Sweet,' says Albino, 'let not anger dress
Thy stainless lilies in distraction's dye.
Let ignorance plead pardon, for I guess
Some other beauties may "Albino" cry.
Might now a ghost permitted be to kiss,
My lips should suck from thine a cherry-bliss.'

'Why,' says Bellama, 'has a ghost no lips?
Is there no pleasure dwells in spirits' veins?
This "might a ghost" does all my joys eclipse,
For now I have my labour for my pains.
Pray, what was Merlin's father? is 't not said
Spirits have power a damsel to unmaid?'

These words, proceeding from Bellama's lips,
Did make Albino myrrhine juice carouse,
To raise an active heat, which nimbly skips
In every vein like fays in Ob'ron's house.
But when he was no ghost, and hoped to merit
Love for love, he found her of another spirit.

'Away, fond monk!' quoth she, 'dost think that I
Into a sea of grief will wade with thee?
And drown my fortunes? make an earldom die?
Dost think humility resides with me?
Canst think I'll choose a pebble, slight a pearl,
Marry a threadbare cowl and scorn an earl?

What door to thy presumption did I ope?
What symptoms of affections did I show?
What actions gainful birth unto thy hope?
Or from what vow did thy assurance grow?
Cease then, for I take it in high disdain,
To thy coarse worth my smallest ray to chain.'

'Disdain?' quoth young Albino. 'Can this be
The voice of my Bellame? Is there such odds?
If not in birth, in worth I equal thee,
Although my muse shot love into the gods.
Disdain's a pitch too high for maids to reach,
Scarce will the queen of pride such doctrine teach.

Presumption too? does he deserve that brand,
Who dallies with consent, invited to 't?
What firmer seal than language, lip, and hand?
What better warrant than desired to do 't?
Say, he is saucy that, with crusted fists,
Paws a court-silk, and melts her balmy wrists.

Who feeted that enigma, whose kind air
Spake me the only high in thy esteem?
Was I not bosomed more than parents, fair?
Did not thine own voice that saint-secret seem?
Who bribed your full face-gazings? and what she
Judged none praise, lip, deserving of but me?

Did not you in mysterious postures woo me?
And 'gainst Bardino levied all your spite?
Nay, by Barraba sent invitements to me?
And dubbed me by your knot the Red-rose Knight?
Did not your wish glue feathers on your feet
To thread a casement when I paced the street?

And after these, ah! thousand more, and nearer
Seals of thy love, must slights unseal your lips?
A puny mistress-hunter well may fear her,
When pride at high noon can my sun eclipse.
Fury! lend me thy poison, Rage! thy breath,
That I, by pride doomed, may doom beauty death.

You pale-faced shadows of the gloomy isles,
Fill up my gall, and lend me all your pow'rs,
To torture women who, enriched with wiles,
From their moist eyes send forth dissembling show'rs.
Would Jove the mount had barren been of stones
Whereof old Pyrrha fram'd the female bones!

Would Sea's daughter, that same queen of faces,
Her alabaster box would deign to me,
Once Phao's ferry pay that gave such graces,
Which till that time the sun did never see.
That I not only might, as others are,
Be counted comely, but o' th' fairest fair.

Then would I sleight those formal tricks of love,
Those sighs, tears, vows, complaints, and folded arms;
Caps, cringes, oaths, and compliments to move
Th' affections of a girl expecting charms.
For wealth, wit, wisdom, eloquence, and greatness
Are less inducements unto love than neatness.'

'How now? Albino, is your doublet grown
Too straight', says she, 'that you do puff and swell?
Peace! peace! let not your choler thus be shown.'
'A thing impossible', says he, 'you tell.
In vain we call for peace, and calmness praise,
When love and hate intestine wars do raise.

Women have double pupils, so they can
Kill like the basilisk but with a glance.
Their very praise does blast and wither man,
Like frost and winter, or his soul entrance.
They're all like Glaucus' wife, whose filthy charms
Won poor Ulysses to her lustful arms.

They're Holgoy, Africans, and fiends they are--
Words know not what they are, they're hell to me--,
Would Jove I had the Heliostrophio fair,
To touch all maids, or, if not all, yet thee:
Or had been born under the Scorpion's head,
With amulets t' have struck thy beauty dead.

Ah! faithless Polupists, that thus can change
Into an hundred thousand shapes your minds!
Phoebe to you is constant; tides do range,
Yet back return; more settled are the winds--
Mere Pompholyx which with each breath does stray.
Your loves catch feathers too, and fly away.

Sometimes a fit of sullens seals your jaws,
In contemplation big (of Jove knows what),
And then again, as if your tongues made laws,
You weary time with your eternal chat.
Ah Mantuan! [Mantuan!] thy pen is not a liar,
Although thy habit says thou wert a friar.

Erstwhile a sober nun Bellama was,
Then a Lucretia, at another gale
I know not what, a straggling country lass,
A quinque-lettered, 'haps, which set to sale,
Now, none more willing unto love than she,
And now more further off from love or me.

Yet call that hasty language back a while.
Bellama is not such, she's Cupid's dart;
Teach me, great Jove, to make Bellama smile,
And with one ray sun her Albino's heart.
Thou purblind boy! teach me to gain Bellama:'
Straight Echo's voice returned him answer, 'Ama.'

'Thanks, gentle Echo, might thy voice divine
Speak truth in this, that love commandeth love.
I would through every mood and tense decline
Amo, and saint thee too, my joy, my dove!
Nay, thou shouldst be whate'er fond babblers prate,
Albino's goddess, though Narcissus' hate.

Oh! would to Jove I were in courteous France,
Or else that happy place in France with me,
That with more tongues thou mightst make ama dance
Within these silent woods from tree to tree.
Or would thou hadst imperial power from Jove,
In the imperious mood to bid her love.'

Quoth she, 'Unworthy of a conquest's he
That for a cannon's roar his ensigns veils:
Unworthy of a rose or rosy glee
Is he, whose courage at her javelins fails:
They're feeble amorists that for a "fie!"
Run from their colours, and in silence lie.

'Tis our prerogative to have entreat
With every phrase that flatt'ry does enhance,
To win our loves, though every stroke they beat,
Our hearts beat Cupid's march, tune Venus' dance.
In their desires they never yet did perish
Which feed our humours, and our passions cherish.

To prove the truth of thy affections, I
Shot forth that language, headed with disdain.
My heart is thine which, till death close mine eye
With steely thumb, thy bosom shall retain.
Caesar's proud nod shall not command that bliss
Whose sweets are promised by this melting kiss.'

'Ha!' quoth Albino, 'dare I trust mine ears
With this blest air? And am I sure I wake?
Or is 't a dream which wakeneth into tears?
'Tis truth: then crawl hence, Furies, toad, and snake!
The earth her mines, sea vomit shall their pearl,
Ere I leave her, who for me left an earl.'

Then sate they dallying in a shady bow'r,
Where maples, ash, and thorn did them embrace:
Whilst her enliv'ning breath produced each flow'r
In curious knots to damask o'er the place.
Oh! who would not his soul and substance tenter,
To be circumference to such a centre?

Now have our amorists attained the height
Of true content; and sate like billing doves.
She tells her quest, he his monastic flight,
Whilst both recount their passions, fears, and loves,
Till Titans hasting to moist Thetis' arms
Bade them provide against his sister's harms.

Then, joining heart and hand with easy pace,
They travelled to a pague adjoining near
Where in a straw-thatched roof (an homely place
For such a pair) they entertainèd were,
And what fine cates old Kath'rine could afford,
Was served in state unto an aged board.

Their table with rich damask cloths was spread,
Whose every twist outvied the double cable,
The napkins diaper, of equal thread,
The mourning trenchers clothèd were in sable.
A curious salt cut out o' th' boulder stone--
And for their plate--sincerely there was none.

The dropsied host like to a sew'r did strut,
To marshal every dish; and first did bring
A spacious bowl, to scour the narrow gut,
Of nut brown ale, a liquor for a king.
And says, 'My Bona Roba, drink this bowl,
'Twill clear thy throat, and cheer thy drooping soul.'

Next came the mumping hostess and set down
A lusty dish of milk--sky-coloured blue,
Crumbed with the ludgets of the lusty brown,
Which two months since was piping hot and new;
'Yet 'tis', says she, 'as savoury in good law
As wheaten trash which crams the ladies' maw.'

This good old crone was troubled so with wind,
Her coats did dance to th' music of her belly.
Next came a barley dumpling whose harsh rind
Was oilèd o'er with a fine tallow jelly
Brought by a mincing Marget, passing trim,
Whose juicy nose did make the pudding swim.

Next came some glotrah (which the ploughman flanks
Joined with a pudding on a holy day)
Brought by a jetting dame, on whom in ranks
And discipline of state whole troops did stray
Of--I forbear to say, lest these rude feet
With queasy dames and lady readers meet.

Last, a tough cheese must lock the stomach's door,
Milked from a cow that fed on naught but burrs,
Had lain five winters on [a] spongy floor,
To gain an harness and a coat of furs;
So neatly peopled too, 'twas judg'd a court,
Such herds of gentles did about it sport.

Qualmish Bellama could not eat a bit,
'Cause luscious meats a surfeit soon provoke.
Albino vent'red but was fain to spit,
Lest those harsh viands should his monkship choke.
And whilst he hawkèd, and Bellama laugh'd,
The trumping hostess stole a thumping draught.

'Are you so dainty-toothèd,' quoth mine host,
'That country victuals will not down with you?
You shall be fed with custards, pies, and roast.
Cannot your chops a boneless pudding chew?
I trow far worser is than this your fare,
Unless you kitchen-sculls and lick-spits are.'

'Ma' gep ma' faw,' the crabbèd hostess said,
'Let 'em e'en fast if they'll not eat their soul.
Is not my daughter Maudge as fine a maid?
And yet by mack you see she trolls the bowl.
I've dressed a supper sure has pleasèd those,
Had wider purses far, and better clothes.'

'Pray, mother, 'gainst the young mon do not rage,'
Says full-lipped Madge, 'for he must be your son.
We are alike in face, of equal age;
Then ho! the match is soon concluded on.
Kuss me, my honest Dick, for we this night
With crickle crackle will the goblins fright.'

'Mass,' says mine host, 'I like the fellow well.
To suckle bairns I'll give him tidy mull,
And my brown mare as sound as any bell,
With ten good shear-hogs to afford him wool,
And, if they please me, after me they shall
Sell nappy yale within this trusty wall.'

'Feck,' says mine hostess, 'they shall have a bed
With good strong sheets to pig together in,
A brazen pot, a kettle, and a lead,
Platters, bowls, pails, and an old kilderkin.
And if they please m' a brace of wheels to spin
Mantles and clouts to wrap their bantlings in.'

Our lovers at this pretty talk did smile,
Then says Albino 'Here is no such haste,
I like: but yet we'll respite it a while,
Thou shall be, duck, some three nights longer chaste.
I'll man my sister at day's next attiring,
Then back and give my Maudge a curtain spring.'

When as his yielding had appeased the billows
Of their loud passions, and their meat digested,
Night's middle age invited to their pillows,
But tell I dare not how the lovers rested,
Whether co-sheeting was allowed as fit,
Monastic vows dispensing well with it.

But this I say, there was but one guest-room,
Hanged with a pentice cloth spoke age enough;
The spiders here had one continued loom:
Here rats and mice did play at blind man's blough.
Their bed had many tasters, but no tester,
Their bedding ushered in thin-sided Easter.

Repentant mattress for chastising Lent,
Stout as a face of steel, which ne'er will yield;
Their sheets were tenants, weekly payed rent,
The pillow was with juice of noddles steeled,
And therefore fit to bolster any sin.
Their coverlet was of a bullock's skin.

Their urine vessel was of Ticknall make,
Whose inside was with unshorn vellet clad.
Their bedstead floated in a springing lake
Where frogs and newts their rendezvouses had.
This was their guest-bed, and there was no other,
Think you Bellama then lodged with her brother?

No: such pure virtues saint Bellama's breast,
And such clear sparks of honour heat his soul,
That such a thought would stain her virgin crest,
And blur the sacreds of Albino's roll.
Then die, black thoughts! Bellama's chaste denials
Repelled all charms of love and Venice-trials.

Nay, he ne'er tempted, nor attempted once
To scale the fortress of her virgin-tower,
For her chaste noes and vows did guard the sconce,
That 'twas impregnable, not forced by power.
And, though he did ensphere her naked waist,
Yet durst my faith and oath conclude her chaste.

This longing on Albino worked so strong,
That, when the god of slumbers did entreat
Him to his court, into his thoughts did throng
His house of penance, hunger, cold and sweat.
So powerful was his dream entruthed with fear,
That his strong faith concluded he was there.

And in some sort he was, for when the East
Was purpled with the blushes of the morn,
When his benumbèd senses were released
By the shrill sound of Gallus' bugle horn--
He heard a sound of words, and looking out,
He saw a legion of the monkish rout.

For you must know that, when Albino's wit
Had won him freedom, and Conrado thrall,
The jealous matron somewhat fearèd it,
And the next morning did 'Conrado' call,
Who (brooking ill his lodging) struck with fear,
Made answer to the matron's question, 'Here'.

So, when her eyes suspicion truth had made,
She asked Conrado how that came to pass,
Quoth he, 'Credulity my fear o'erswayed,
I was deluded with the dukedom lass.
She promised me a dukedom for my pains,
And I, poor I, thought it sufficient gains!'

'Ha!' quoth the matron, 'could thy falsehood serve
Thus to dishonour me, and all my train?
His penalty is thine; till every nerve
Shrink up with famine, thou shalt here remain.
Time will not measure years ere thou wilt say,
A dukedom for thy penance is no pay.'

'Madam,' quoth he, 'my senses were bewitchèd
With that pure white which dwelt upon her brow;
I scratched and pinched, but still my humours itchèd,
I stood upright, but still my heart did bow.
Who would not twice ten minutes in a brook
Chin-high and thirsty stand, to be a duke?'

Quoth she, 'I see that folly oversways,
And Venus sovereign is of every sect.
To beauty every order homage pays,
Whilst only age and blackness gain neglect.
I 'xcuse thy frailty--haste unto thy dell--
The sentence of Felice's flight repell.'

Conrado thanked her, and away did pack
(As one reprievèd from the gallow tree
Still fearing that stern justice plucked him back)
Lest, Janus-like, her face should changèd be.
For well he knew the monthly hornèd queen
No oft'ner fills her orb than she her spleen.

He Nature blamed, he could no faster run;
But, coming to the gate, the porter oped,
Who, much appalled to see a youthful nun,
Says, 'Mistress, do you travel to be coped?
Give me my fee: for sure, a plump-cheeked lass
Shall not the porter's lodge unkissèd pass.'

He could not quiet his impatient lust
Till he had shown the ensigns of his habit;
His parèd crown, with Venus' rays adust,
Then left the mongrel his supposèd rabbit,
And slinked away from his monastic veil,
Just like a dog that newly burnt his tail.

When he had cast his woman, and put on
The habit of his order, he made haste
Unto his lord, told him Felice's gone,
And that his conscience did conclude her chaste.
'She Folco's large endowments must inherit,
And promised me to recompense my merit.'

The prior, smiling at his folly, checked
Him for Apella's faith, and said his lass
Was young Albino in nun-vestments decked.
'(If that our porter had his double glass),
And since thy coming cleareth every doubt,
Harness yourselves to seek the younker out.'

As the attendants of an hunting prince,
Intending to disfrank an o'ergrown boar,
View the impressions of his feet, which, since
Last eve, were printed on the sandy shore,
Beating each bush, and in each cabin searching
To find his frank, and not the pheasants perching.

And as when Reynald, with his wily plot,
Into the squadron of the geese is crept,
And grandsire Gander on his back has got,
Th' affrighted geese, like them which watch-tow'rs kept,
With shrill-toned gabblings wake the slumb'ring towns,
By Phoebe's candle to go seek the downs--

Some arm themselves with spits, one with a ladle,
Some snatch up pickforks, one a bill or knife.
The ambling nurse runs out and leaves the cradle,
And the awed midwife flies the teeming wife;
Old grandsire greybeard his tuff bilbo gets,
And grandame Grissel with her distaff jets.

Just so our hair-lack monks pursued their quest,
Searched for his view, and threaded every grove
With bells, beads, books, and holy water blest,
And armed with envy's whips about did rove,
Their runagado Reynald to surprise,
And came to Stean ere the sun could rise.

Which sight unspirited Albino quite,
That his invention could not teem a plot;
For in his looks his fear was writ in white,
And to his heart his frighted blood did trot.
Yet, calling courage to appear o' th' stage,
He sheathed his body in his woven cage.

Then hasting to the host, bade him awake,
Desired his counsel and assisting hand,
Says now his life and safety lay at stake.
For, at his door, a troop of shavelings stand.
'I am their errand: I must bid adieu
To lovely Maudge, mine hostess, and to you.'

'Ho!' quoth mine host, and rubbed his gummy eyes,
'What says my son? Must thou be whirled away?
I warrant, boy, my club shall still their cries,
When 'bout their costards I shall make it play.
I'll dye their stark-nak'd crowns with their own blood,
Then let 'em come if that they think it good.'

'Good Sickerlin,' says Maudge, 'ere they shall have
My honey-sweeten Dick, I'll scratch and bite,
With scalding water I'll their noddles shave;
Then buss me Dick, thy Maudge will for thee fight.'
'Thanks,' quoth he, 'duck, but yet it cannot be
That thy endeavours should advantage me.

But yet methinks I see some comfort dawn:
Yon tinker's budget strengthens every joint.
Send me some clothes by time's harsh grinders gnawn,
And I will be a tinker in each point.
My sister must have rags; and be my trull.
Thus veiled and clothed we will the shavelings gull.'

Accoutred in these robes of state, he made
His face and hands in sooty vestures mourn.
Then waked Bellama, who was sore afraid
To see a tinker, and away does turn.
But grasping only air she shrilly cried,
'Art fled, Albino, from thy sweetheart's side?'

Which words, so shrilly spoke, made Echo babble;
Who, winged with envy, out o' th' window flies,
Carries 'Albino' to the monkish rabble,
They, hearing that, Perduers made their eyes
And, swelled with rage, against the door did knock,
Whose aged breast could not endure the shock.

This stroke Albino's heart did almost break,
Yet bids Bellama sheath her body in
These homely rags, which only safety speak.
'Care not for coarseness, so they hide the skin,
And at this tinker's habit do not wonder,
'Tis but the curtain thy Albino's under.'

'What tipsied fellows at my door do beat
Thus early,' quoth mine host, 'is this your manners?
What? must mine hostess wait upon th' entreat
Of tailors, cobblers, carpenters, and tanners?
If drinking be your errand, where ye got
Your last night's fuddling-cap, this morning trot.'

Impatient they did make the door unhinge,
Which gave an entrance to enraged Bardino.
He to the reverend host did lowly cringe,
Told him his errand was to seek Albino.
And as they did his homely cottage hem,
Albino's name came leaping unto them.

'Ho!' quoth mine host, 'unto mine house there came,
Last night for lodging, a stout tinker knave,
Who now is ticking with his ragged dame.
Go, if with him ye any business have;
But who Albino is I cannot tell.
Here's no sike mon does penance in my cell.'

Into the arras-ceilèd parlour then,
The copesters went, in every corner snooked,
The tinker's visage none of them did ken,
But for Albino on Albino looked.
Well might he cozen them, whenas his saint
Knew not his face under that mask of paint.

Then as they searchèd every place by chance
Conrado did his monkish vestments own
He lent Felice at their affiance.
The host, perceiving that the clothes were known,
Said, 'Yesterday, about the after three,
A fellow came and pawned those clothes to me.'

They asked Bellama then why she did call
Upon Albino. 'Why, forsooth,' said she,
'I was a servant once in Darwey Hall,
Where that young monk I oftentimes did see;
Who oft in private would disport with me,
And promised that I should his sweeting be.

But, by misfortune being turned away,
This jovial tinker took me unto wife,
So, as this morn by his warm side I lay,
I of Albino dreamed--my joy, my life.'
'He's not thy mon,' quoth Maudge; 'thou li'st, base drab':
'Peace, housewife,' says mine host, 'you tattling blab.'

Thus had the scene been changed, had not the sire
Suppressed her babblings with a check and grin.
The monks, well satisfied, gang to the fire
To taste the juice of Kate's old kilderkin.
The tinker and mine host would always cry,
'Fill, hostess, fill! the monks are still a-dry.'

Canzone

Drink full ones, tinker, methinks the monks are dry,
Drink healths, mine host, the monks do fear a thirst.
Are the monks thirsty? the monks will quickly try
If they or the tinker want a pillow first.
Else will we jig and hay unto the black pot's sound,
Till to that music the house shall dance the round.

Then fill a dozen, hostess, we'll have a merry cup,
And make the tinker forfeit his budget and his brass.
'Faith,' says the tinker, 'I'll make your monkships sup
Till ye sing requiems in reading of the mass.'
Then fill a gallon, hostess, we'll health it all about,
Till all complain o' th' headache, the falling, or the gout.

Come on, dropping shavelings, let's see you count your beads,
I am half afraid you'll stutter in the mass.
Gramercy, lovely pots, and nimble Ganymedes,
That brought more water than what holy was.
Well, saucy tinker, well, pray finger you your brass,
And let the monks alone, 'lone, they'll finger well the mass.

Pray, Gaffer Cowlists, why are ye so bald
To cool your pia maters in a sweat?
Or did the water your wise noddles scald,
Which your devotions and hot zeal did heat?
Or are ye given unto Venus play?
I am afraid there went the hair away.

But base Bardino did this mirth eclipse
(In his monastic life Albino's friend),
Viewing the travail of his hand, his lips,
He, by a secret mark, Albino kenned.
For, by some strange mishap, was set a brand,
An azure spot upon his abler hand.

Says he, 'Methinks you are too frolic, tinker,
Your mirth I fear presageth your disgrace,
You must no longer be mine hostess' skinker,
For you will say, unless y' have brazed your face--
That you both see and do Albino know:
If you deny 't, I have your hand to show.

During the time that you were cowled and coped,
On your right hand there dwelt a cerule mark,
Which ne'er would off, although 'twas often soaped.'
'Well,' quoth mine host, 'but pray your worship, hark,
May not two men be like? may there not be
The selfsame spot of him, and you, and me?'

This could not yet appease Bardino's hate,
Still teeming mischief, and with envy big;
So, starting up, he fumed, and loud did prate,
And snatchèd off Albino's periwig.
Now 'gainst two witnesses he could not stand,
Whenas his head bore witness with his hand.

Albino excused, it was by nature so,
Saying no razor e'er did touch his skull.
'No,' says Bardino, 'it again does grow;
Thou canst not with this fop my wisdom gull.
Keep him, my brethren, and meanwhile I will
Fetch the watch-beggar and his rusty bill.'

Bellama did meanwhile what language can,
With oilèd words and pity-pleading tears,
Beseeching these to free her weddèd man.
But to her voice they cottoned had their ears,
Until an Angel did appear unto them,
And with his goldy looks and music woo them.

Then did they yield to let them go away,
And they meantime would feign a deading sleep.
They for a second licence would not stay,
But hasting out along the ditches creep.
And as they went a raddle-man they meet,
Whom with kind airs and highway phrase they greet.

And, greeting past, Albino did require
To change apparel with him, and his trade,
Giving him cash to hasten his desire.
'With all my heart,' the raddle-younker said
(Ne'er questioning the cause); 'yet, by the mass,
My dames will say I am a podging ass.'

Thus changed they clothes and budgets: then with lead
On the new tinker's hand Albino made
A mark like his, to gull his envious bead.
With raddle-crimson then, fit for his trade,
He clothed his face, and gave Bellama some,
So trudged away, for fear the monk should come.

Have you beheld a hound in sudden fright,
Whom powder feared, or else the staff did beat,
How oft he turns, and looks, yet keeps on flight?
So they, with glancing eyes, would oft retreat,
Yet movèd forward still as in a ship
The pilots backward look, yet forward skip.

But our new tinker, swellèd with content,
Fearing no colours, to the town did pass,
Crying, as he along the hamlet went,
'Ha y' any need ho! of a tinker's brass?'
Bardino now returned in a chafe,
And ask'd the tinker's name, who answer'd, 'Rafe.'

'Where dwell'st thou?' 'Anywhere?' 'How long
Hast tink'ring used?' 'I cannot tell.'
Then 'bout the tinker all the monks did throng,
Whilst he, poor fellow, thought h' had been in hell.
For till that day he never saw such creatures,
And what they were he knew not by their features.

Bardino fearèd this was but a gull,
And says, 'Good fellow, let me see thy hand.'
'I'm not asham'd to show 't, by cock and bull.'
Bardino, viewing 't well, espied the brand,
And says, 'Sir youth, before you cozened me:
But now in sooth I will be meet with thee.'

'Devil or friar, whatsoe'er thou art,
What taunting language dost thou give to me?
Ha!' quoth the tinker. Quoth Bardino, 'Smart
Shall give a comment of my words to thee.'
'Smart?' quoth the tinker. 'Swig for Smart and you:
I bid defiance unto all thy crew.

Talk not to me of Smart: for if you prate
This knotty staff shall bastinado you.
I'll set a scarlet cap upon thy pate,
And lace thy shoulders with a purple blue.'
'Peace, honest tinker,' say the other monks.
'Aye! I will peace it, if I catch the hunks.'

But let the monks and tinker take their chances.
We'll view the travels of our raddle-man,
With faint Bellam', whom every fear entrances,
And every trance does make her roses wan.
Thus far their loves have tragi-comic been,
Thwarted by Fate and the unconstant Queen.

But every planet with kind aspect now
Views their long-travelled loves; and Venus' boy
Smiles on their wishes with auspicious brow.
Now a full harvest must they have of joy,
Though sowed with black disasters, dangers, fears,
Dispair, hope, doubtings, sad complaints, and tears.

For aged Starley's tow'rs (that fatal stage
Where Danes did act their juries once in blood,
When bellowing cannons belchèd out their rage)
Within the kenning of our lovers stood.
And the well-tunèd bells did loud proclaim
Joy to the lovers in great Hymen's name.

A near ally Albino in this town
(By order a devout Carthusian) had,
Whose voice he hoped with joy their loves should crown.
But he, a slave in raddle vestures clad
And a ragged Marget seeing, started back,
Bidding his knaveship to some other pack.

He would have no commerce with such as he,
He had no ewes whose backs did want his raddle,
And if he over-saucy needs would be,
With a good bat he would his gaskins swaddle.
'The Provost Marshal else, if this does fail,
Shall show you lodging in the whipstock jail.'

This language sounded in Bellama's ears
Like the sad voice of death, yet fear no slaughter.
To joy straight changed shall be this scene of tears,
And stead of grief the child of pleasure, laughter.
My promise stands unshaked: for this short anger
Brings not their loves nor safeties unto danger.

'Sir,' quoth Albino, 'there was once a time
When you esteemed those wingèd minutes sainted
You spent with me (when Fortune was in prime),
For you and I have better been acquainted;
Though some disasters and stern Fate have made
Me take this homely garb and homelier trade.

Some blood which in your azure channels glide
Dwells in my veins: I am Albino hight,
And lest you think this smells too much of pride,
View this triangle on my able right.'
That sight unto rejoicings beat alarms,
His kinsman then ensphered him in his arms.

So led them both under his archèd roof,
Breathing kind welcomes from his courteous lips;
Excus'd his ignorance and sharp reproof,
Asked what misfortune did his worth eclipse.
Demanding how coy Fortune dealt with him,
And who she was that was so passing trim?

'Unless high heavens do forbid the bane,
This maid shall be my bride, though homely dressed;
Clothes oftentimes the purest beauty stain,
And Venus most unclothed is clothèd best.
Under this roof of rags Bellama dwells,
Fraught with diviner worth than nature spells.'

'Hymen enrich your wishes with content,
As benign heaven has enriched your face
With nature's glory, beauty's orient,'
Says the Carthusian with a comely grace;
'Thrice welcome! welcome! for your lovely grace
Will add a lustre to my homely place.'

'Sir, my endeavours shall be wholly spent
Henceforth,' quoth she, 'to recompense your air.'
'This is no time, forsooth, to compliment,
Prithee adjourn thy words of courtship, fair,
For till our hands be joined as well as hearts
I fear', quoth he, 'supplanting Envy's darts.

Good cousin, ere the next day's sun be rolled
Th' Apogaeum, our meridian point,
Favour our wishes with the "have and hold".
Tie us so fast fate may not us disjoint.
For Envy, like a snake, does crawl about,
And winds her tail in where she holes her snout.

Omit no nuptial rites; with holy oil
Let her anoint the posts, with virgin hand
To Janus consecrate the wether's spoil,
And to those gods which for our households stand,
Procure horn torches to be borne along,
And cry "Thalassus!" with a bridal song.

Provide me store of nuts to throw about
With a full hand unto the gaping boys,
That from the tumults of the struggling rout
All voices may be damped that speak not joys.
Over us two let the same Flamine fall,
And let the wheaten cake consummate all.

Nor will we manumiss these robes of state,
Within whose walls blest safety only dwells.
Lest our known faces, and apparel, prate
In louder echoes than the marriage bells.
Then say, fair lady, truth I do not jeer,
Will you be wedded to a scarleteer?'

Quoth she, with blushes carpeting her cheek,
'And is that question, prithee, yet to ask?
Your worth does merit the unequalled Greek,
Without nun-penance or Alcides' task.
Then [I] pray you (in truth it is no gull)
Will you be married to a tinker's trull?'

Thus sleep and mirth did cut the night: and ere
The sovereignty was ta'en from Cynthia's horn,
When at East's casement newly did appear
The orient brightness of the rising morn,
Albino rose, and to the church did haste
T' un-nun Bellama and ungird her waist.

When the Carthusian's voice had crowned their amours
With an assurance of Thalassian joys,
The air was thinnèd with the joyful clamours
(Not of state-satins) but of grammar boys;
And our fresh sponsants in that height of mirth
To every pleasure gave an easy birth.

Now are they landed on the isle of bliss,
Where every joy courts their desires with pleasure;
Envy did then her snaky train dismiss,
For their espousals did all sweet entreasure.
Dead grief bequeathed her stings to thorn and thistle.
Nor durst a sigh within those borders whistle.

Then, as sea-merchants when their reeling galley,
Drunk with salt Neptune, hazardeth their breaths,
To calm bold tempest and the Triton's valley,
Hack on the quiet shore their brackèd sheaths,
So did our amorists, half wrack'd with eye-men,
Devote their raddle vests to Love and Hymen.

Some marrow-lancing eye perchance may quarrel,
'Cause with the bridal torch my muse expires;
And in loud jeers his tow'ring voice apparel,
Taxing the faintness of my metric fires,
Because my lines tread not the common path
Of fortune, issue, and appeasing wrath.

Perhaps I dare not lengthen out my story
With those events succeeding time begot,
Lest some disaster should eclipse their glory,
And the pure ermines of their pleasures spot.
For having screwed them into firm embraces,
I will not waken hate or rouse disgraces.

Yet beauty (know) when virtue shines upon her,
And virtues (know) [when] skin-perfections gloss 'em,
Awe Fortune's wrath, and challenge heaven's honour.
Hell cannot cancel them, nor Envy dross 'em.
Love! if to me the same content thou'lt yield,
I'll limn thy mother on Minerva's shield.