not to envye thy loue But that I might beholde my wracke revenged from Aboue Or that such wrongs as mine if such or worse might bee Might make mee smile at thy Mishaps as thou hast done at mee Or then that sometime thou like that Minoniane Dame Mightst loue and loathed bee and suffer such like shame Or that the fatall Sparke whereon thy Loines might lout And mounting much might make thee pleade for Peace thy time about Yet whiles againe I thinke might I my wish obtaine I could not but bee kinde to thee for kindnesse that hath beene Thus what I would I wish but wot not what I would Twixt Heate and Colde I frieze I frye and fearfull am and bolde Yea though I bee dismaide such is my flaming Fyre That Neptunes Kingdome could not quench the Coales of my Desyre Yet whiles I reade the Schrole of Torments which I thole Where no Mischance is mixt to fill a grieved Martyres Roll. And when I looke the Liues wherein thy Hellish Doome By thy Chyrographie sent That Death should me consume Thus I resolue at ones for to obey thy will Although my Lyfe the Ransome bee thy Furie to fulfill Since Contraries wee see are by Contraries cured Then welcome Death to cut the Threed which hath so long endured For why my Prayers are but Curses late and aire And I beséech the gods by night to see the Day no maire My wishes are that Hilles and Rockes should on mee fall To end my endlesse breath my lyfe my loue and all Yet all those wishes are but types that I must die Which revelations all at once shall now accomplisht bee Then louelesse dame adue whom I haue helde so deare And welcome Death to cut the Threede which holdes my lyfe in weire And Pilgryme thou who took'st thy way in manie airts For me prepare a burial Bed for Bones when Breath departs Yet recommend mine Heart vnto my sometime-Sweet Who shall when I am dead and gone for Grace and Guerdon greet And let that place bee nam'd Strophonius Caue of care Where nought but woefull wandring â—ightâ— vndone wâ—â—… duill repare And let this Caberne colde wherein I dwelt to die For Misers and vnhappie men a matchlesse Manston bee Let him whose erring steps should guide him heere to plaine Take paines to recollect my rolls scattered Skrolls againe That these my Waylings now and Sorrowes Children may Extolde in after comming times endure and lieue for aye And that the wandring eyes which reade my sorrowing songs When I am dead may say that shee causelesse hath wrought such wrongs The Mountaines high whose poynts doe pierce the asure Aire Whose echoes lowde my Commerades make comfort to my Care Still mot your hights aryse with statelie tops and stay To match the Alpes that yee may bee as famous faire as they Yee Ualleyes louelie low with sweet and levell lynes Where Natures workmanship and pryde in Floraes Mantle shynes Greene mot yee grow for aye and that ne spaits of raine No Snowie showres no partching Sunne your statelie broydering staine And thou O blessed Brooke which didst accept my Teares And harbered theÌ„ within thy heart so manie loathsome yeares Unto the Ocean great most swiftlie mot yee slide To pay thy debts bout stop or stay of contrare streame or tide Yee whisling windes likewise which swiftlie did receiue My Cogiate Sighs and burie them within your Bosome braue Doe thus much once for mee Take one Sigh to my Dame And whispering sweetlie show that Sainct thus haue I sent the same And if shee doe refuse which out of doubt I dread The newes of No shall bee a Sput to haste mee to my dead Yee braue and statslie Trees which circumcituate heere Still bloome and blossome with the change of yearlie changing cheare Though I did ryue your Kyndes brake your tender Barkes By painting Polyphilaes name to your immortall markes Agrieue not with your wounds for I dare well avow That I more cruellie haue rent my tender Heart than you But last and by the laiue thou Holline graue and greene Wherein my Mistresse name and mine most liuelie may bee seene I consecrate to thee my Corpse when I am gone That by my losse I may enlarge thy thornie leaues eachone And when I shall consume and rot about thy roote Then shall thy Boughs and Branches bloome and beare a fairer Fruit And as thou tak'st increase so shall Her Name and mine Unto thy praise my losse her shame in seemelie sort aye shine Yee savage Citizens which in this Forrest bee That did exchange your Cruelties in Courtesies to mee Well not yee bee poore Beastes and that no shots of Lead No life-bereaving Bow nor Bolt procure nor haste your dead And thou sweete pyping Pan ye Fawnes and Satyres rare Which were amidst my matchlesse moanes Companions of my care Ye Nymphes of Hilles Dales of Woods of Uailes of Floods I bid you all alace Good-night and so my Muse concludes For now the Herbinger of Death must life and loue bereaue My Heart is faint and loe my Soule begins to take her leaue And so at point of Death whose wisht approach I feele To end my life I write this last Ill-faring word Fare-well So endeth the Testament of Stophonius Thus the poore Heremite in midst of his paine Began to repeate his faire Mistres speach Downe betwixt mine Armes fell in dead thraw againe UUhen no Leid for his life mee thought could be Leach His Cognate Corpse as Clay were like the Lead Yea healthlesse and helplesse were Heart Hand and Head I began to bewaile And eke for to raile On her whose faith did faile In such time of neede Yet in the midst of my moanes downe lighted that Dame Companied with none but her Palfray and Page And when shée saw her liele Loue lye deade ere shée came Her faire Face and rich Robes shée rent in great rage And â—â—atlings shée fell vpon his faint Face And great Seas of sault Teares shée spent in short space And séeing her Swéet slaine No remead did remaine Shee thus began to plaine Her bad carefull case Polyphila her Complaint and Testament O endlesse Night of noyse which hath no Morrow O lowring Heavens which harmes still haue threat Ov'r mantling mee with sable Clowds of Sorrow UUhereas no Starre doeth shine earlie nor late Although I ship from Craig to seeke my Mate And from a glorious Garland to my Crowne I finde by death my daintie Rose dung downe Yée swelling Seas with waltering UUaues that roll To resolute the weather-beaten Shoare They eb they flow and changing Courses tholl And dare transcende their bounded banks no more But I alace whom Duill doeth still devoure I finde no entermissions to my Moanes But ere and late lament my grievous Groanes How can my wofull Heart and weeping Eyes Beholde the dearest of my life bereaft How can my minde admit the least surmyze Of anie Hope that hath but Horrour left My Pilote now by North nor
woe Till Death with his Dart come put mee from payne Else Atropus cutting quyte the Threed in two And on the greene growing Barke of each blooming Tree This Diton indorsed shall well written bee In sorrow and sight slayne For Her heere I remayne Who lykes of another ane Much more than of mee Fond Heremite quod I then thy loue would appeare Too high to bée placed aboue thy degree And thy fond foolish hope frozen with feare And Fortune thy Olde Friend thy New Enemie For shee whom thou best lovest as thy selfe sayes As reasonlesse and ruethlasse respects thee nowayes Thy syle is her sight Thy duill her delight And thy payne to despight Shee pleasantlie playes Whereby it well séemes thy labour is lost And vnto thy graue thou it goe ere thou get her Mad man why mak'st thou thyne enemie thy hospe Die not a foole man for Gods sake forget her For put case in hope to obtayne thy desyres Thou die heere for want of Bed Food and Fyres Then who shall bee seene To louk thy dead Eine And intombe thee I weine As custome requyres Leaue then thy Heremitage and this colde Caue And liue no more in loue since thou art not lov'd But follow mee and take part as I haue Companie and counsell may doe thee some good For Don-Diëgo had died in Desart Wert not Rodorico did him there convert Thus it may fall so That I thy Rodorico May finde ease to thy woe And heale thy hurt Heart Speake Pilgrime quod hee of thinges that may bee Or that hath appearance to take some effect For such is my faintnesse I want force to flee Loue Fortune Death haue given such a checke Betwixt Wit and Will there is great debate The one with the other stryving for the state Flee Loue quod my Wit Stay sayes my Will yet So I byde so I flit So I loue so I hate But where thou wouldst seeme to salue all my sore And by thy strait statutes to stay all my sturt Meddle with that matter good Pilgrime no more Since all mine health hangeth on her that mee hurt The Coalâ— that mee burnes to the bone will I blow Though Liver Lungs and Lights fly vp in a low Since shee doeth decree it That I die so bee it I long till I see it Let Death bende his Bow Uayne wretch quod I then cast off thy vowed Weedâ— And wander no more in this wilde Wildernesse It may bee thy Mistres that deare Dame bee dead For whose swéete sake daylie that diest in distresse Perchance before that thou her againe see By vote of the Wan-weirdâ— that buried shee bâ—â— Or put case thy Dame deare Hath chosen a new Pheare Thou wouldst despare to see her That so lightlies thee Or contrarywyse good Heremite suppone Thy Mistres this moment hath good minde of thee And for thy long absence maketh great moane And from her heart wisheth her leile loue to see Saying in her selfe Would God I wist where My poore pyned Patient doeth make his repare Wist I well so I thryue That hee were yet alyue I should bee no wights wyue For ten yeares and maire Conceit with thy selfe good Heremite I pray If thy Dame bee dead thou wéep'st but in vaine Thou art a starke Stocke heere still for to stay And mourne for the losse that mendes not thy moane For if shee some other respect more than thee What grace canst thou get in duill heere to die Or wouldst thou thy trueth Should reape reward of rueth Why slipst thou so with sleuth The thing that may bee Good Pilgrime saide hee then of these two I see As you seeme to conclude the one must bee true Shee loathes or shee loues a mids may not bee As to my paines I may prooue by signes anew For my beloved Loue my deare daintie Dame Despiseth those Elements which spell my poore Name UUoe is mee if I mint To forge Floods from the Flint My true travell shall bee tint Such Friendship to frame But you would say that Death drierie Death Perhaps hath abrogate my deare Dames dayes To looke for a long lyfe then must I bee loath Whom each froward frowne else of Fortune affrayes And since alyke for her loue I haue tane such payne I care not a cuit for her sake to bee slayne I shall not séeme for to shrinke Of Death for hey death to drinke Whose swéete Eyes with a winke May reviue mee agayne Let this then applease thee good Pilgrime I pray That no presence absence no distance of place No fond toyes no new frayes no tyme no delay No bad chance no new change nor contrarie case No not the fierce flames that Fortune can spit Shall make my firme fixed sayth or fancie to flit Yea let her fléete let her flow Let her doe what shee dow To gar my griefe aye grow I shall bee true yet Good Heremite for trueth tolde I oft tymes haue heard The leilest in loue commeth aye the worst spéede And hee that deserues well to reape best reward For firme sayth and friendship shall finde nought but feide Take tent to the tales tolde of true Troyall Knight And hee that hanged him selfe if I reade right Yea though thy sute thou obtayne With one word tint agayne Short pleasure long payne With duile day and night But since thou delightest to liue still in loue Advyse thee on this well Bee never too true Though thou sweare and say thy mynde shall not moue For Orphus take Protus to change aye thy hew Was not great Ioue turn'd in a Showre in a Fyre In a Swan in a Bull t' obtayne his desyre For hee that loues lighliest Bee sure hee shall speede best And hee that loues without rest Shall surely get ill hyre Wherefore in loue if that thou wouldst come speede Thou must flee fayth bee facile false vntrue Ere thou prevayle right so farre as I reide There must bee a sympathie twixt her and you For I demand How can right Concord bee Whyle you are true and shee both false and slee Shee lykes well another sho Then choose new and change too And if you well doe Bee as false as shee Alace quod the Heremite too late I spye the right And wronged with woe still wrongly I frame I know that in loue my Ladie proues but light And if that I were wyse I would doe the same But fayth and her remembrance martyres mee maire Than did her presence perfect mee when I was there For whyles grieved I greete Whyles I mourne till wee meete And some tymes my poore sprite Dies drowned in despare And whyles in a rage I reckon with my sell And to and fro dispute to dash my desyre Halfe dead in Desart heere why should I dwell And pyne with payne wanting Bed Food and Fyre Why doe I lose youths pryme without all gayne Or why mourne I for her that kéepes Disdayne And when that I conclude To burne Habite and Hood Yet doe I not dde it My Uow is
in a short space that sweete seemlie Sainct Presentes mee her Pilgrime a baile-bearing Bill And as in the wilde way shee weind I should want My Bag and my Bottle shee plenisht at will A King from her Finger full faire did shee take And gaue mee and prayde mee good Newes to bring backe And having no more to say But loath I should long stay Shee weeping went away And not a word spake Then when the blacke Night her sadde Mantle shew Ill Successour degenerate from the Day UUith the third Foote in hand I throgh the thrang threw Though clad with the darke Clowdes I went on my way And loath to detaine the Lecture too long I came to my sicke Friende and this was his Song But when I knew his voice I kept my selfe full close To heare the Layes of his losse The wilde woods among The Heremite his Complaint SO manie thinges before haue perfect Poets pende For to expresse their piercing paines and cause their Cares bee kende That nought is left alace for most vnhappie mee In Skyes aboue on earth beneath nor in the glassie Sea No Metaphoricke Phrase no high Invention braue No Allegorie sweete Conceit no Theame sublime and graue But all thinges else are saide which I can write or say Thus in effect I wot not how my wracks for to bewray And nothing doeth aggrege my griping griefe so much As that my skill should be so small my sorowes should be such Yet all those Poets braue which were or yet shall bee Could I but vtter as I feele might all giue place to mee And thou whose mirth was least whose comfort was dismaid Whose hope was vaine whose faith was skorne whose trueth was betraide Thou didst declare thy duile in braue and daintie dye Thou wast vnhappie then I graunt but now vnhappie I. Thy Poemes did present vpon thy pleasant Page Moe Sorrowes than thou ever felt into thy cunning age With costlie Nurix rare Sidâ—niane Wares divine Thou litst thy Lines which makes thy Moanes miraculouslie to shine My Paines like Tagus Sandes no numbers can bewray Or like Auroras tears which she for Memnon sheeds each day As Starres in frostie Sky can not bee tolde which shynes So manie heaps of harms my hart without compassion pyns Yea would I preasse to tell the torments that I feele With travell tint then might I turne Irions fatall wheele And to disgorge these griefs which make mee sigh and sob Were for to weue a new Penelopeian webbe My Eyes like Fountaines might in bloodie Fornace frye Or like the Lidiane Tubs whose doome is never to bee drye My hote and smoothred sighes no levill course can take But restlesse round about my heart esphearicke motion make My Thoughtes are now of Blisse like ruine Ilion bare My shape a reconfused masse which flowrisht once so faire My Ship which sometimes saild in draine of hope aright On Rockes full colde is rent in blacke and stormie night And I forsaken Soule a lyfelesse lumpe of Lead Twixt wind and waue am cast whereas no strength can stand in stead My Uentring was my Wracke my high Desire my Fall Which made the Naufrage of my Hurt my Hope my Hap and all Alace alace that I impossiblie did preasse Aboue my Fortunes for to flie so farre to my disgrace Disgrac'd with Losse with Shame with Wracke and endlesse Wrong These are the dolefull Ditties now and subjects of my Song Yet dare I not alace though I haue cause complaine Which makes me sigh and sob and thus for loue am slaine But since it is my weird to fall to waile to weepe Then by my losse let others learne a lower course to keepe Thus endeth the Heremite his Complaint And when I saw that his Song received a full ende I showde my selfe shortlie and kindlie did kythe And when that sore sicke man his true Bearer kende And saw the Face of his Friend God knowes he was blythe Then showde I the blacke Bill subscryv'd with his Name Well written with the hand of his owne deare Dame And then with a glad â—heare When Hope had ceassed Feare Hee read that I might heare The Will of the same Her Answere to the Heremite THy loving Lines I rashlie did receiue Wherein thy Trueth thy State thy Wracke I see But at mine handes no succour shalt thou haue Though Friende to mee I shall bee Foe to thee And since thy death doeth on my doome depende Liue loath'd or die disgrac'd and so I ende Thus shee shortly concludes And when hee read these bad and noisome Newes Which did refresh his Woes his Hurtes and Harmes Whiles red whiles pale hee chaunged manie hewes And fell downe in dead-thraw betwixt my weake Armes And when with my salt Teares I bath'd his pale Face His Sprites and his Breath came to their owne place Hee cryde then O Death stay Thy date for this halfe day That I in writ may bewray My high great Disgrace The Heremite his Testament BUt now and not till now my Swan-lyke Song I sing And with each word my dying Eyes the bloodie Teares foorth bring Not that I loathe alace or shrinke for to bee slaine For what can be so swéet as death which puts an end to pain My death shall bee the Cause thy Honour and Renowne Shal lose the conquerd Diademe of Fames immortal Crown Yet since it is thy Doome that in disgrace I die Or loathed liue the choise is hard whereas no mids may bee And yet of Evils twane the best must aye bee tane So that I rather choose to die than liue in endlesse paine Long haue I lookt for joy whence floods of sorrow spring The ende whereof alace must bee my latest Will to sing My Tones are carefull Cryes my Words are Plaints alace Sad Sorrow must the Singer bee since Pittie hath no place My Paines are like a Point amidst a Circle set Still in such nearnesse to my selfe that no reliefe can get How can I hope for helpe since Heavens doe mee despise And all the gods aboue are dead'd with my Complaintes and Cryes Earths burden am I thus whose sighes infect the Aire With poisned breath procéeding from an heart consum'd with Care For loe the faithlesse Fates vnto this state mee calles By which the statelie Starres themselues misfortune tholes What resteth then but Death since Death must be the last To put a period to my paine for pleasures hope is past Yet A attest the gods since first our loue began I haue beene the lielest aye and most affected man I loded thee alace thy Soliphermis sworne O Poliphila false my lawtie is forlorne My loue woe 's mee therefore still thy disdaine hath beene The most Extreams that ever were or shall againe bee séene Thou first betrayde mine Heart then falsifide thy Faith And where thou promisde Lyfe by Loue thou hast decreede my Death When that thy Cruelties I call before and to The Eyes of my Remembrance I doubt what I shall doe Whiles doe I wish to liue
yet by East Espies no Calmes but Mercie-wanting Stormes Pretending Death in blacke and vglie Formes I grouelinges on the Ocean of my pride Did misregard each true and loving Sute So mante sude for favour on each side Which made my Seede to yeelde much barren Fruite Though I bewaile as nowe it bringes no buite Sighes Teares and Uowes and all are waird in vaine Since nothing can redéeme thy life againe Aye mee alace Alace and waile-away Deare Heert poore Heart what restes for thy behoue Since I procur'd thy death by my delay And did mistrust my true and constant Loue Now shall my death thy present death approue Though whilst thou liv'd to loue thee I was loath Yet I am thine beyonde the date of death Then let mee die and bid Delight adue Since my delight is with thee dead and gone The comming Age shall say thy Thisv◠true Was constant still and lov'd but thee alone Wee both shall lye vnder one Marble stone One Graue in ende shall ende our fatall griefe Which yeeldes mee nowe in point of death reliefe Since yesterday may not bee brought againe And Wronges may bee repented not recall'd I will no more in veigh on Death in vaine But make all Womens cowrage to bee bolde And in the Tymes to come it shall bee tolde Though thou till death didst serue and honour mee I after death haue sought and followde thee And Pilgrim◠nowe I praye and I protest Before I ende this last exequall Act Let mee bee bolde to make this small Request That for thy vmwhile Friend◠some paines thou take First In this place a private Graue gar make And let vs lye interd conjunctlie there Where nought but Fawnes and Satyres make repare Next When thou comst into my natiue Land Wherein my Loue and louelesse I was borne If anie of our Tragicke death demand With Pittie speake I praye and not with Scorne This Practicks rars which seldome was beforne Which when my deare and loving Friendes shall heare My Tragicke ends will cost them manie a Teare Thus endeth her Complaynt And so when that rare Pearle departed out of paine Upon the colde dead Corpse of her leile Loue Unto my else hurt Heart did heape Harmes againe And layde new weight on my brast Breast aboue To see him and her gaspe still no wrisht my care I wist not whom to helpe him or her there While I stoode in this doubt The Heremite lookt out And gaue a faint shout Twixt hope and despare This is the Worldes most wondrous worthie Might Most matchlesse of all that may on molde moue Halowed bee the Heavens that showde mee this sight And lent mee this light to looke on my leile loue Now am I glad and vngriev'd to Graue though I goe Thy travell and toyle doeth reward well my woe For wilt thou belieue mee My Maker mischieue mee If thou canst agrieue mee I still loue thee so I come quod the Cleare then to cure all thy care Though the Faites had forsworne to fang thee my Feire Bee biythe then my deare heart and mourns thou no maire For Peace saith the Proverbe puts end to all weire Goe leaue then thy Hermitage and thy cold Caue Where Wolfe Lyon wilde Beare thy blood still doe craue And with the good God's grace Thou shalt in a short space For all thy losse stnde release And first Health receiue Then franklie the Frieke fuire with her helpe and mine And to her Palfray hee past although with great paine And tooke on that swéet Sainct that méeke Iem divine That miracle which gods made as next vnto naine Then blythlie the Bairue blent and hyde hastie Hame Throgh shéene Shawes donke Dailes with his deare Dame And so with Adew dry Through the Wood could they hye As wee twind they and I I woke of my Dreame Heere endeth the fatalitie of the loyall Lover Soliphereus and of his sweete Ladie Polyphila The Poëme AS perfect Poets eye-tymes haue tane paine And search'd the Secrets of each high Engyne By base and lowlie Subjects to exclaime High Mysteries both morall and divine Even so into this worthlesse Worke of mine Which at Friends bidding boldlie I set foorth Some things may séeme obscure though little worth For as the Heremite leaues his dearest Dame And takes delight in colde Desart to dwell Syn◠of his Lot and of him selfe thinkes shame And still despaires and still doeth loathe him sell So wretched man exchanging Heaven with Hell Forgetting GOD in Darknesse doeth remaine And still despaires to get Reliefs againe And as the painfull Pilgryme now and than With Arguments and pithie reasons strong Would faine reduce the Heremite if hée can And make him to beholde his woefull wrong And as the Woods and savage Beastes among So with him bydes and recomforts his Care Syne holds him vp from dying in Despare And as in ende hée mooues him for to wryte Syne showes his Sutes vnto his Mistres Eyes Wherein yée sée shée tooke no small delyte Because in him some signe of Trueth shée stes Shée cures his Cares and all his sicke Disease Yea heales his hurt and heartlie by the hand Shée home-ward leades him to her natiue Land So sinfull man first by the helpe of Faith Despiseth Sinne repents and sore doeth pray That GOD in Mercie would avert His wrath And make His bred displeasure to decay And when the sicke converted would away From worldlie ease with haste hee maketh speede Then comes the LORD to helpe His owne at neede Hee cures our cares Hee helpes vs to bee haile Hee makes our sorie Soules for to rejoyce If wee in Him confyde Hee will not faile To free vs from the force of all our Foes And at the last with great disgrace of those That loving LORD shall take vs by the Hand And with Him leads vs to the HOME LAND FINIS Orpheus Fiddle * or without * For bout vnderstand without