Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN

AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the

old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after

a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber;

only this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child.

AUTOLYCUS. I would most gladly know the issue of it.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the

changes I perceived in the King and Camillo were very notes of

admiration. They seem'd almost, with staring on one another, to

tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness,

language in their very gesture; they look'd as they had heard of

a world ransom'd, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder

appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that knew no more but

seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in

the extremity of the one it must needs be.

Enter another GENTLEMAN

Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero?

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd:

the King's daughter is found. Such a deal of wonder is broken out

within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it.

Enter another GENTLEMAN

Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the King found his heir? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's; her jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding; and many other evidences- proclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? SECOND GENTLEMAN. No. THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seem'd sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her. Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description to do it. SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son, who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd; so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But, O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. She lifted the Princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angl'd for mine eyes- caught the water, though not the fish- was, when at the relation of the Queen's death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confess'd and lamented by the King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas!'- I would fain say- bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all the world could have seen't, the woe had been universal. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court? THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina- a piece many years in doing and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer- thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. Exeunt GENTLEMEN AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relish'd among my other discredits.

Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN

Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already

appearing in the blossoms of their fortune.

SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and

daughters will be all gentlemen born.

CLOWN. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this

other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these

clothes? Say you see them not and think me still no gentleman

born. You were best say these robes are not gentlemen born. Give

me the lie, do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born.

AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.

CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.

SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy.

CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father;

for the King's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and

then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince,

my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father.

And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that

ever we shed.

SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more.

CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous

estate as we are.

AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I

have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report

to the Prince my master.

SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are

gentlemen.

CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life?

AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship.

CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as

honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia.

SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it.

CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins

say it: I'll swear it.

SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son?

CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in

the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a

tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I

know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be

drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall

fellow of thy hands.

AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power.

CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder

how thou dar'st venture to be drunk not being a tall fellow,

trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are

going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy

good masters. Exeunt

SCENE III. Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house

Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA,

LORDS and ATTENDANTS

LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort

That I have had of thee!

PAULINA. What, sovereign sir,

I did not well, I meant well. All my services

You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd,

With your crown'd brother and these your contracted

Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,

It is a surplus of your grace, which never

My life may last to answer.

LEONTES. O Paulina,

We honour you with trouble; but we came

To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery

Have we pass'd through, not without much content

In many singularities; but we saw not

That which my daughter came to look upon,

The statue of her mother.

PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless,

So her dead likeness, I do well believe,

Excels whatever yet you look'd upon

Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it

Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare

To see the life as lively mock'd as ever

Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well.

[PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE

standing like a statue]

I like your silence; it the more shows off

Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my liege.

Comes it not something near?

LEONTES. Her natural posture!

Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed

Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she

In thy not chiding; for she was as tender

As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,

Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing

So aged as this seems.

POLIXENES. O, not by much!

PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence,

Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her

As she liv'd now.

LEONTES. As now she might have done,

So much to my good comfort as it is

Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,

Even with such life of majesty- warm life,

As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her!

I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me

For being more stone than it? O royal piece,

There's magic in thy majesty, which has

My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and

From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,

Standing like stone with thee!

PERDITA. And give me leave,

And do not say 'tis superstition that

I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady,

Dear queen, that ended when I but began,

Give me that hand of yours to kiss.

PAULINA. O, patience!

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's

Not dry.

CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,

Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,

So many summers dry. Scarce any joy

Did ever so long live; no sorrow

But kill'd itself much sooner.

POLIXENES. Dear my brother,

Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r

To take off so much grief from you as he

Will piece up in himself.

PAULINA. Indeed, my lord,

If I had thought the sight of my poor image

Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine-

I'd not have show'd it.

LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain.

PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy

May think anon it moves.

LEONTES. Let be, let be.

Would I were dead, but that methinks already-

What was he that did make it? See, my lord,

Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins

Did verily bear blood?

POLIXENES. Masterly done!

The very life seems warm upon her lip.

LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't,

As we are mock'd with art.

PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain.

My lord's almost so far transported that

He'll think anon it lives.

LEONTES. O sweet Paulina,

Make me to think so twenty years together!

No settled senses of the world can match

The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone.

PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but

I could afflict you farther.

LEONTES. Do, Paulina;

For this affliction has a taste as sweet

As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,

There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel

Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,

For I will kiss her.

PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear.

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;

You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own

With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?

LEONTES. No, not these twenty years.

PERDITA. So long could I

Stand by, a looker-on.

PAULINA. Either forbear,

Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you

For more amazement. If you can behold it,

I'll make the statue move indeed, descend,

And take you by the hand, but then you'll think-

Which I protest against- I am assisted

By wicked powers.

LEONTES. What you can make her do

I am content to look on; what to speak

I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy

To make her speak as move.

PAULINA. It is requir'd

You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;

Or those that think it is unlawful business

I am about, let them depart.

LEONTES. Proceed.

No foot shall stir.

PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike. [Music]

'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;

Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come;

I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away.

Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him

Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.

[HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal]

Start not; her actions shall be holy as

You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her

Until you see her die again; for then

You kill her double. Nay, present your hand.

When she was young you woo'd her; now in age

Is she become the suitor?

LEONTES. O, she's warm!

If this be magic, let it be an art

Lawful as eating.

POLIXENES. She embraces him.

CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck.

If she pertain to life, let her speak too.

POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd,

Or how stol'n from the dead.

PAULINA. That she is living,

Were it but told you, should be hooted at

Like an old tale; but it appears she lives

Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.

Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel,

And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady;

Our Perdita is found.

HERMIONE. You gods, look down,

And from your sacred vials pour your graces

Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own,

Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found

Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I,

Knowing by Paulina that the oracle

Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd

Myself to see the issue.

PAULINA. There's time enough for that,

Lest they desire upon this push to trouble

Your joys with like relation. Go together,

You precious winners all; your exultation

Partake to every one. I, an old turtle,

Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there

My mate, that's never to be found again,

Lament till I am lost.

LEONTES. O peace, Paulina!

Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,

As I by thine a wife. This is a match,

And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine;

But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her,

As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many

A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far-

For him, I partly know his mind- to find thee

An honourable husband. Come, Camillo,

And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty

Is richly noted, and here justified

By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place.

What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons,

That e'er I put between your holy looks

My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law,

And son unto the King, whom heavens directing,

Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,

Lead us from hence where we may leisurely

Each one demand and answer to his part

Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first

We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt

THE END

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1609

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT

by William Shakespeare

From off a hill whose concave womb reworded

A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale,

My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded,

And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale,

Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,

Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain,

Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,

Which fortified her visage from the sun,

Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw

The carcase of a beauty spent and done.

Time had not scythed all that youth begun,

Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven's fell rage

Some beauty peeped through lattice of seared age.

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,

Which on it had conceited characters,

Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine

That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,

And often reading what contents it bears;

As often shrieking undistinguished woe,

In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Sometimes her levelled eyes their carriage ride,

As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend;

Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied

To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend

Their view right on; anon their gazes lend

To every place at once, and nowhere fixed,

The mind and sight distractedly commixed.

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,

Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride;

For some, untucked, descended her sheaved hat,

Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;

Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,

And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,

Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew

Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,

Which one by one she in a river threw,

Upon whose weeping margent she was set;

Like usury applying wet to wet,

Or monarchs' hands that lets not bounty fall

Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,

Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood;

Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone,

Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;

Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood,

With sleided silk feat and affectedly

Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy.

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,

And often kissed, and often 'gan to tear;

Cried, 'O false blood, thou register of lies,

What unapproved witness dost thou bear!

Ink would have seemed more black and damned here!

This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,

Big discontents so breaking their contents.

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,

Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew

Of court, of city, and had let go by

The swiftest hours observed as they flew,

Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;

And, privileged by age, desires to know

In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.

So slides he down upon his grained bat,

And comely distant sits he by her side;

When he again desires her, being sat,

Her grievance with his hearing to divide.

If that from him there may be aught applied

Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,

'Tis promised in the charity of age.

'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold

The injury of many a blasting hour,

Let it not tell your judgement I am old:

Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power.

I might as yet have been a spreading flower,

Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied

Love to myself, and to no love beside.

'But woe is me! too early I attended

A youthful suit- it was to gain my grace-

O, one by nature's outwards so commended

That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face.

Love lacked a dwelling and made him her place;

And when in his fair parts she did abide,

She was new lodged and newly deified.

'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;

And every light occasion of the wind

Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.

What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:

Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind;

For on his visage was in little drawn

What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.

'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;

His phoenix down began but to appear,

Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,

Whose bare out-bragged the web it seemed to wear:

Yet showed his visage by that cost more dear;

And nice affections wavering stood in doubt

If best were as it was, or best without.

'His qualities were beauteous as his form,

For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;

Yet if men moved him, was he such a storm

As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.

His rudeness so with his authorized youth

Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

'Well could he ride, and often men would say,

"That horse his mettle from his rider takes:

Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,

What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!"

And controversy hence a question takes

Whether the horse by him became his deed,

Or he his manage by th' well-doing steed.

'But quickly on this side the verdict went:

His real habitude gave life and grace

To appertainings and to ornament,

Accomplished in himself, not in his case,

All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,

Came for additions; yet their purposed trim

Pierced not his grace, but were all graced by him.

'So on the tip of his subduing tongue

All kind of arguments and question deep,

All replication prompt, and reason strong,

For his advantage still did wake and sleep.

To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,

He had the dialect and different skill,

Catching all passions in his craft of will,

'That he did in the general bosom reign

Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,

To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain

In personal duty, following where he haunted.

Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted,

And dialogued for him what he would say,

Asked their own wills, and made their wills obey.

'Many there were that did his picture get,

To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;

Like fools that in th' imagination set

The goodly objects which abroad they find

Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assigned;

And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them

Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.

'So many have, that never touched his hand,

Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.

My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,

And was my own fee-simple, not in part,

What with his art in youth, and youth in art,

Threw my affections in his charmed power

Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.

'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,

Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;

Finding myself in honour so forbid,

With safest distance I mine honour shielded.

Experience for me many bulwarks builded

Of proofs new-bleeding, which remained the foil

Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

'But ah, who ever shunned by precedent

The destined ill she must herself assay?

Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,

To put the by-past perils in her way?

Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;

For when we rage, advice is often seen

By blunting us to make our wills more keen.

'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood

That we must curb it upon others' proof,

To be forbod the sweets that seems so good

For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.

O appetite, from judgement stand aloof!

The one a palate hath that needs will taste,

Though Reason weep, and cry it is thy last.

'For further I could say this man's untrue,

And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;

Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew;

Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;

Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;

Thought characters and words merely but art,

And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

'And long upon these terms I held my city,

Till thus he 'gan besiege me: "Gentle maid,

Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,

And be not of my holy vows afraid.

That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;

For feasts of love I have been called unto,

Till now did ne'er invite nor never woo.

'"All my offences that abroad you see

Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;

Love made them not; with acture they may be,

Where neither party is nor true nor kind.

They sought their shame that so their shame did find;

And so much less of shame in me remains

By how much of me their reproach contains.

'"Among the many that mine eyes have seen,

Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,

Or my affection put to th' smallest teen,

Or any of my leisures ever charmed.

Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harmed;

Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,

And reigned commanding in his monarchy.

'"Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me,

Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;

Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me

Of grief and blushes, aptly understood

In bloodless white and the encrimsoned mood-

Effects of terror and dear modesty,

Encamped in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

'"And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,

With twisted metal amorously empleached,

I have receiv'd from many a several fair,

Their kind acceptance weepingly beseeched,

With the annexions of fair gems enriched,

And deep-brained sonnets that did amplify

Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.

'"The diamond? why, 'twas beautiful and hard,

Whereto his invised properties did tend;

The deep-green em'rald, in whose fresh regard

Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;

The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend

With objects manifold; each several stone,

With wit well blazoned, smiled, or made some moan.

'"Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,

Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,

Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,

But yield them up where I myself must render-

That is, to you, my origin and ender;

For these, of force, must your oblations be,

Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

'"O then advance of yours that phraseless hand

Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;

Take all these similes to your own command,

Hallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise;

What me your minister for you obeys

Works under you; and to your audit comes

Their distract parcels in combined sums.

'"Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,

Or sister sanctified, of holiest note,

Which late her noble suit in court did shun,

Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;

For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,

But kept cold distance, and did thence remove

To spend her living in eternal love.

'"But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave

The thing we have not, mast'ring what not strives,

Playing the place which did no form receive,

Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves!

She that her fame so to herself contrives,

The scars of battle scapeth by the flight,

And makes her absence valiant, not her might.

'"O pardon me in that my boast is true!

The accident which brought me to her eye

Upon the moment did her force subdue,

And now she would the caged cloister fly.

Religious love put out religion's eye.

Not to be tempted, would she be immured,

And now to tempt all liberty procured.

'"How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!

The broken bosoms that to me belong

Have emptied all their fountains in my well,

And mine I pour your ocean all among.

I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,

Must for your victory us all congest,

As compound love to physic your cold breast.

'"My parts had pow'r to charm a sacred nun,

Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,

Believed her eyes when they t'assail begun,

All vows and consecrations giving place,

O most potential love, vow, bond, nor space,

In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,

For thou art all, and all things else are thine.

'"When thou impressest, what are precepts worth

Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,

How coldly those impediments stand forth,

Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!

Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame.

And sweetens, in the suff'ring pangs it bears,

The aloes of all forces, shocks and fears.

'"Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,

Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,

And supplicant their sighs to your extend,

To leave the batt'ry that you make 'gainst mine,

Lending soft audience to my sweet design,

And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,

That shall prefer and undertake my troth."

'This said, his wat'ry eyes he did dismount,

Whose sights till then were levelled on my face;

Each cheek a river running from a fount

With brinish current downward flowed apace.

O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!

Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses

That flame through water which their hue encloses.

'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies

In the small orb of one particular tear!

But with the inundation of the eyes

What rocky heart to water will not wear?

What breast so cold that is not warmed here?

O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,

Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.

'For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,

Even there resolved my reason into tears;

There my white stole of chastity I daffed,

Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;

Appear to him as he to me appears,

All melting; though our drops this diff'rence bore:

His poisoned me, and mine did him restore.

'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,

Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,

Of burning blushes or of weeping water,

Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,

In either's aptness, as it best deceives,

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,

Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows;

'That not a heart which in his level came

Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,

Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;

And, veiled in them, did win whom he would maim.

Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;

When he most burned in heart-wished luxury,

He preached pure maid and praised cold chastity.

'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace

The naked and concealed fiend he covered,

That th' unexperient gave the tempter place,

Which, like a cherubin, above them hovered.

Who, young and simple, would not be so lovered?

Ay me, I fell, and yet do question make

What I should do again for such a sake.

'O, that infected moisture of his eye,

O, that false fire which in his cheek so glowed,

O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,

O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed,

O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,

Would yet again betray the fore-betrayed,

And new pervert a reconciled maid.'

THE END

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