[Footnote 5: stratagems.]
MONTa.n.u.s
So blames the child the flame because it burns, And bird the snare because it doth entrap, And fools true love because of sorry hap, And sailors curse the ship that overturns.
But would the child forbear to play with flame, And birds beware to trust the fowler"s gin, And fools foresee before they fall and sin, And masters guide their ships in better frame;
The child would praise the fire because it warms, And birds rejoice to see the fowler fail, And fools prevent before their plagues prevail, And sailors bless the barque that saves from harms.
Ah, Corydon, though many be thy years, And crooked elde[1] hath some experience left, Yet is thy mind of judgment quite bereft, In view of love, whose power in me appears.
The ploughman little wots to turn the pen, Or bookman skills to guide the ploughman"s cart; Nor can the cobbler count the terms of art, Nor base men judge the thoughts of mighty men.
Nor withered age, unmeet for beauty"s guide, Uncapable of love"s impression, Discourse of that whose choice possession May never to so base a man be tied.
But I, whom nature makes of tender mould, And youth most pliant yields to fancy"s fire, Do build my haven and heaven on sweet desire, On sweet desire, more dear to me than gold.
Think I of love, oh, how my lines aspire!
How haste the Muses to embrace my brows, And hem my temples in with laurel boughs, And fill my brains with chaste and holy fire!
Then leave my lines their homely equipage, Mounted beyond the circle of the sun: Amazed I read the stile when I have done, And hery[2] love that sent that heavenly rage.
Of Phoebe then, of Phoebe then I sing, Drawing the purity of all the spheres, The pride of earth, or what in heaven appears, Her honored face and fame to light to bring.
In fluent numbers, and in pleasant veins, I rob both sea and earth of all their state, To praise her parts: I charm both time and fate, To bless the nymph that yields me lovesick pains.
My sheep are turned to thoughts, whom froward will Guides in the restless labyrinth of love; Fear lends them pasture wheresoe"er they move, And by their death their life reneweth still.
My sheephook is my pen, mine oaten reed My paper, where my many woes are written.
Thus silly swain, with love and fancy bitten, I trace the plains[3] of pain in woeful weed.
Vet are my cares, my broken sleeps, my tears, My dreams, my doubts, for Phoebe sweet to me: Who waiteth heaven in sorrow"s vale must be, And glory shines where danger most appears.
Then, Corydon, although I blithe me not, Blame me not, man, since sorrow is my sweet: So willeth love, and Phoebe thinks it meet, And kind Monta.n.u.s liketh well his lot.
[Footnote 1: old age.]
[Footnote 2: praise.]
[Footnote 3: complaints.]
CORYDON
O stayless youth, by error so misguided, Where will proscribeth laws to perfect wits, Where reason mourns, and blame in triumph sits, And folly poisoneth all that time provided!
With wilful blindness bleared, prepared to shame, p.r.o.ne to neglect Occasion when she smiles: Alas, that love, by fond and froward guiles, Should make thee tract[1] the path to endless blame!
Ah, my Monta.n.u.s, cursed is the charm, That hath bewitched so thy youthful eyes.
Leave off in time to like these vanities, Be forward to thy good, and fly thy harm.
As many bees as Hybla daily shields, As many fry as fleet on ocean"s face, As many herds as on the earth do trace, As many flowers as deck the fragrant fields,
As many stars as glorious heaven contains, As many storms as wayward winter weeps, As many plagues as h.e.l.l enclosed keeps, So many griefs in love, so many pains.
Suspicions, thoughts, desires, opinions, prayers, Mislikes, misdeeds, fond joys, and feigned peace, Illusions, dreams, great pains, and small increase, Vows, hopes, acceptance, scorns, and deep despairs,
Truce, war, and woe do wait at beauty"s gate; Time lost, laments, reports, and privy grudge, And last, fierce love is but a partial judge, Who yields for service shame, for friendship hate.
[Footnote 1: trace, walk.]
MONTa.n.u.s
All adder-like I stop mine ears, fond swain, So charm no more, for I will never change.
Call home thy flocks in time that straggling range, For lo, the sun declineth hence amain.
TERENTIUS
In amore haec omnia insunt vitia: induciae, inimicitiae, bellum, pax rursum: incerta haec si tu postules ratione certa fieri, nihilo plus agas, quam si des operam, ut c.u.m ratione insanias.
The shepherds having thus ended their eclogue, Aliena stepped with Ganymede from behind the thicket; at whose sudden sight the shepherds arose, and Aliena saluted them thus:
"Shepherds, all hail, for such we deem you by your flocks, and lovers, good luck, for such you seem by your pa.s.sions, our eyes being witness of the one, and our ears of the other. Although not by love, yet by fortune, I am a distressed gentlewoman, as sorrowful as you are pa.s.sionate, and as full of woes as you of perplexed thoughts.
Wandering this way in a forest unknown, only I and my page, wearied with travel, would fain have some place of rest. May you appoint us any place of quiet harbor, be it never so mean, I shall be thankful to you, contented in myself, and grateful to whosoever shall be mine host."
Corydon, hearing the gentlewoman speak so courteously, returned her mildly and reverently this answer:
"Fair mistress, we return you as hearty a welcome as you gave us a courteous salute. A shepherd I am, and this a lover, as watchful to please his wench as to feed his sheep: full of fancies, and therefore, say I, full of follies. Exhort him I may, but persuade him I cannot; for love admits neither of counsel nor reason. But leaving him to his pa.s.sions, if you be distressed, I am sorrowful such a fair creature is crossed with calamity; pray for you I may, but relieve you I cannot.
Marry, if you want lodging, if you vouch to shroud yourselves in a shepherd"s cottage, my house for this night shall be your harbor."
Aliena thanked Corydon greatly, and presently sate her down and Ganymede by her. Corydon looking earnestly upon her, and with a curious survey viewing all her perfections, applauded (in his thought) her excellence, and pitying her distress was desirous to hear the cause of her misfortunes, began to question her thus:
"If I should not, fair damosel, occasion offence, or renew your griefs by rubbing the scar, I would fain crave so much favor as to know the cause of your misfortunes, and why, and whither you wander with your page in so dangerous a forest?"
Aliena, that was as courteous as she was fair, made this reply:
"Shepherd, a friendly demand ought never to be offensive, and questions of courtesy carry privileged pardons in their foreheads.
Know, therefore, to discover my fortunes were to renew my sorrows, and I should, by discoursing my mishaps, but rake fire out of the cinders.
Therefore let this suffice, gentle shepherd: my distress is as great as my travel is dangerous, and I wander in this forest to light on some cottage where I and my page may dwell: for I mean to buy some farm, and a flock of sheep, and so become a shepherdess, meaning to live low, and content me with a country life; for I have heard the swains say, that they drunk without suspicion, and slept without care."
"Marry, mistress," quoth Corydon, "if you mean so, you came in good time, for my landslord intends to sell both the farm I till, and the flock I keep, and cheap you may have them for ready money: and for a shepherd"s life, O mistress, did you but live awhile in their content, you would say the court were rather a place of sorrow than of solace.
Here, mistress, shall not fortune thwart you, but in mean misfortunes, as the loss of a few sheep, which, as it breeds no beggary, so it can be no extreme prejudice: the next year may mend all with a fresh increase. Envy stirs not us, we covet not to climb, our desires mount not above our degrees, nor our thoughts above our fortunes. Care cannot harbor in our cottages, nor do our homely couches know broken slumbers: as we exceed not in diet, so we have enough to satisfy: and, mistress, I have so much Latin, _Satis est quod sufficit_."
"By my troth, shepherd," quoth Aliena, "thou makest me in love with your country life, and therefore send for thy landslord, and I will buy thy farm and thy flocks, and thou shalt still under me be overseer of them both: only for pleasure sake I and my page will serve you, lead the flocks to the field, and fold them. Thus will I live quiet, unknown, and contented."
This news so gladded the heart of Corydon, that he should not be put out of his farm, that putting off his shepherd"s bonnet, he did her all the reverence that he might. But all this while sate Monta.n.u.s in a muse, thinking of the cruelty of his Phoebe, whom he wooed long, but was in no hope to win. Ganymede, who still had the remembrance of Rosader in his thoughts, took delight to see the poor shepherd pa.s.sionate, laughing at Love, that in all his actions was so imperious. At last, when she had noted his tears that stole down his cheeks, and his sighs that broke from the centre of his heart, pitying his lament, she demanded of Corydon why the young shepherd looked so sorrowful.
"O sir," quoth he, "the boy is in love."
"Why," quoth Ganymede, "can shepherds love?"