The
Countess
of
Pembroke's Arcadia (1590). Book III.
Sir
Philip
Sidney.
Note on the e-text: this Renascence
Editions text was transcribed by Risa
Bear, November, 2003, from the Sommer facsimile of a British
Museum
copy of the Ponsonby edition of 1590. The text is in the public domain.
Content unique to this presentation is copyright © 2003 The
University
of Oregon. For nonprofit and educational uses only.
THE THIRD BOOKE
OF
THE COVNTESSE OF
PEMBROKES ARCADIA.
CHAP.
I.
Dorus-his 1 faire and 2 foule
weather in his loue. 3 His for-
lorne agonies. 4 His doubts to
write, 5 and Pamelaes
to reade, 6 his elegie.
His
last dayes daunger, hauing made Pamelaes loue discerne,
what a
losse it
should haue suffered, if Dorus
had bene destroyed, bredde such
tendernesse of kindnes in her toward him: that she coulde no longer
keepe Loue from looking through her eyes, and going forth in her words;
whom before as a close prisoner she had to her hart onely committed; so
as finding not only by his speeches & letters, but by the pitifull
oratio[n] of a languishing behauior, & the easily discyphered
character of a sorowful face, that Despair began nowe to threaten him
destruction, she grewe content both to pitie him, and let him see she
pityed him: as well by making her owne beautifull beames thawe away the
former icinesse of her behauiour, as by entertaining his discourses
(whensoeuer he did vse them) in the third person of Musidorus;
to so
farre a degree, that in the ende she said, that if she had bene the
Princesse, whom that disguised Prince had vertuously loued, she
would
haue requited his faith with faithfull affection: finding in her
hart, that nothing could so hardly loue as vertue: with many mo words
to the same sense of noble fauour, & chast plainnesse. Which when
at the first it made that expected blisse shine vpon Dorus; he
was like
one frozen with extremitie of colde, ouer-hastily brought to a great
fire, rather oppressed, then relieued with such a lightning of
felicitie. But after the strength of nature had made him able to feel
the sweetnesse of ioyfulnes, that again being a child of Passion, &
neuer acquainted with mediocrity, could not set bou[n]ds vpon his
happines, nor be co[n]tent to giue Desire a kingdome, but that it must
be
an vnlimited Monarchy. So that the ground he stood vpon being ouer-high
in happines, & slipperie through affection, he could not hold
himselfe fro[m] falling into such an error, which with sighs blew all
co[m]fort out of his brest, & washt away all cheerfulnes of his
cheere, with teares. For this fauour filling him with hope, Hope
encouraging his desire, & Desire considering nothing, but
oportunitie: one time (Mopsa being called away by her mother,
& he
left alone with Pamela) the sudden occasion called Loue, &
that
neuer staid to aske Reasons leaue; but made the too-much louing Dorus
take her in his armes, offering to kisse her, and, as it were, to
establish a trophee of his victorie.
But she, as if she had bin ready to drinke a wine of
excellent tast & colour, which suddenly she
perceiued had
poison in it, so did she put him away fro[m] her: loking first vnto
heauen, as amazed to find herselfe so beguiled in him; then laying the
cruel punishment vpon him of angry Loue, and lowring beautie, shewing
disdain, & a despising disdain, Away (said she) vnworthy man to
loue, or to be loued. Assure thy selfe, I hate my selfe for being so
deceiued; iudge then what I doo thee, for deceiuing me. Let me see thee
no more, the only fall of my iudgement, and staine of my conscience.
With that she called Mopsa, not staying for any answer (which
was no
other, but a flood of tears, which she semed not to mark (much lesse to
pity) & chid her for hauing so left her alone.
It was not an amazement, it was not a sorrow, but it
was euen a death, which then laid hold of
Dorus: which certainly
at
that instant would haue killed him, but that the feare to tary longer
in her presence (contrary to her com[m]andement) gaue him life to cary
himselfe away fro[m] her sight, and to run into the woods, where,
throwing
himselfe downe at the foot of a tree, he did not fall to lamentation
(for that proceeded of pitying) or grieuing for himselfe (which he did
no way) but to curses of his life, as one that detested himselfe. For
finding himselfe not onely vnhappy, but vnhappie after being falne from
all happinesse: and to be falne from all happines, not by any
misconceiuing, but by his own fault, and his fault to be done to no
other but to Pamela: he did not tender his owne estate, but
despised
it; greedily drawing into his minde, all conceipts which might more and
more torment him. And so remained he two dayes in the woods, disdaining
to giue his bodie food, or his mind comfort, louing in himselfe
nothing, but the loue of her. And indeed that loue onely straue with
the fury of his anguish, telling it, that if it destroyed Dorus,
it
should also destroy the image of her that liued in Dorus: and
when the
thought of that was crept in vnto him, it bega[n] to win of him some
co[m]passion to the shrine of the image, & to bewaile not for
himselfe
(who[m] he hated) but that so notable a loue should perish. The began
he
onely so farre to wish his owne good, as that Pamela might
pardon him
the fault, though not the punishment: & the vttermost height he
aspired vnto, was, that after his death, she might yet pittie his
error, and know that it proceeded of loue, and not of boldnesse.
That conceipt found such friendship in his
thoughts, that at last he yelded, since he was banished
her prese[n]ce, to
seeke some meanes by writing to shew his sorrow, & testifie his
repentance. Therfore getting him the necessarie instruments of writing,
he thought best to couterfaite his hand (fearing that as alreadie she
knew his, she would cast it away as soone as she saw it) and to put it
in vers, hoping, that would draw her on to read the more, chusing the
Elegiac as fittest for mourning. But pen did neuer more quakingly
performe his office; neuer was paper more double moistned with inke
& teares; neuer words more slowly maried together, & neuer the
Muses more tired, then now with changes & rechanges of his deuises:
fearing howe to ende, before he had resolued how to begin, mistrusting
ech word, condemning eche sentence. This word was not significant, that
word was too plain: this would not be co[n]ceiued; the other would be
il
conceiued. Here Sorow was not inough expressed; there he seemed too
much for his owne sake to be sory. This sentence rather shewed art,
then passion; that sentence rather foolishly passionate, then forcibly
mouing. At last, marring with mending, and putting out better, then he
left, he made an end of it; & being ended, & diuerse times
ready to teare it: till his reason assuring him, the more he studied,
the worse it grew, he folded it vp, deuoutly inuoking good acceptation
vnto it; and watching his time, when they were all gone one day to
dinner (sauing Mopsa) to the other lodge, stale vp into Pamelaes
chamber, and in her sta[n]dish (which first he kissed & and craued
of it a
safe and friendly keeping) left it there, to be seene at her next vsing
her hike (himselfe returning againe to be true prisoner to desperate
sorrow) leauing her standish vpon her beds head, to giue her the more
occasion to marke it: which also fell out.
For she finding it at her after noone-returne, in
another place then she left it, opened it. But when
she saw the letter,
her hart gaue her from whence it came. And therefore clapping it to
againe, she went away from it, as if it had bin a contagious garment of
an infected person: and yet was not long away, but that she wished she
had read it, though she were loth to reade it. Shall I (said she)
second his boldnesse so farre, as to reade his presumptuous letters?
And yet (said she) he sees me not to growe the bolder thereby: And how
can I tell, whether they be presumptuous? The paper came from him, and
therefore not worthie to be receyued; and yet the paper (she thought)
was not guiltie. At last, she concluded, it were not much amisse to
looke it ouer, that she might out of his wordes picke some further
quarrell against him. Then she opened it, and threwe it away, and tooke
it vp againe, till (ere she were aware) her eyes woulde needes reade
it, conteining this matter.
VNto a caitife wretch, whom long
affliction holdeth,
and now
fully beleeues helpe to be quite perished;
Grant yet, grant yet
a looke, to the last monume[n]t of his anguish,
O you (alas so I find) came of his onely ruine.
Dread not a whit (O goodly cruel) that pittie may enter
into thy hart by the sight of this Epistle I send:
And so refuse to behold of these strange wounds the recitall,
least it might th'allure home to thy selfe to
returne,
Vnto thy selfe I do means those graces dwell so within thee,
gratefulnes, sweetnes, holy loue, hartie regard)
Such thing cannot I seeke (Despairs hath giu'n me my answer
despaire most tragicall clause to a deadly request)
Such thing can[n]ot he hope, that knowes thy determinat
hardnes;
hard like a rich marble: hard, but a faire Diamond.
Can
those eyes that of eyes drownd in most harty flowing teares,
(teares and teares of a man) had no returne to
remorse;
Can those eyes not yeeld to the kind conceit of a sorow,
which inke onely relates, but ne laments, ne replies?
Ah, that, that I do I not conceiue {though that to my blisse were)
more then Nestors yeares, more then a Kings
diademe.
Ah, that, that I do not co[n]ceiue; to the heaue[n]
when a mouse climes
then may I hope t'atchieue grace of a heauenly
tiger.
But, but alas, like a man co[n]demn'd doth craue to be
heard speake
not that he hopes for amends of the desaster he
feeles,
But finding th' approch of death with an ougly relenting,
giues an adieu to the world, as to his onely
delight:
Right so my boiling hart, enflamde with fire of a faire eye,
bubling out doth breath signes of his hugie dolours:
Now that he fends to what end his life and loue be reserued,
and that he hence must part where to liue onely he
lou'd.
O faire, O fairest, are such thy triumphs to thy fairnesse?
can death beautie become? must be such a monument?
Must I be onely the marke, shall proue that Vertue is angrie?
shall proue that fiercenes can with a white doue
abide?
Shall to the world appeare that faith and loue be rewarded
with
mortall disdaine, bent to vnendly reuenge? Vnto
reuenge?
O sweete, on a wretch wilt thou be
reuenged?
shall such high Plannets ende to the losse of a war
me?
And to reuenge who[m] doo bend, would in that kind be
reuenged,
as th' offence was done, and goe beyond if he can.
All my offence was Loue: with Loue then must I be chastned,
and with more, by the lawes that to Reuenge doo
belong.
If that loue be a fault, more fault in you to be louely:
Loue neuer had me opprest, but that I saw to be
lou'd.
You be the cause that I lou'd: what Reason blameth a shadowe,
that with a body't goes? since by a body it is.
If that Loue you did hate, you should your beautie haue hidden:
you should those faire eyes haue with a veile
couered.
But foole, foole that I am, those eyes would shine fro[m] a dark caue.
what veiles then doo preuaile, but to a more
miracle?
Or those golden lockes, those lockes which lock me to bondage,
torne you should disperse vnto the blasts of a
winde.
But foole, foole that I am, tho I had but a hair of her head fou[n]d,
eu'n as I am, so I should vnto that haire be a
thrall.
Or with fair ha[n]ds-nailes (ô ha[n]d
which nailes me to this death)
you should haue your face (since Loue is ill)
blemished.
O wretch, what do I say? should that faire face be defaced?
should my too-much sight cause so true a Sunne to be
lost?
First let Cimmerian darknes be my one/' habitation:
first be mine eyes pulde out, first be my braine
perished;
Ere that I should consent to doo such excessiue a dammage
vnto the earth, by the hurt of this her heauenly
iewell.
O no: but such loue you say you could haue afoorded,
as might learne Temperance voyde of a rages euents.
O sweet simplicitie: from whence should Loue so be learned?
vnto Cupid that boy shall a Pedante be
found?
Well: but faultie I was: Reason to my Passion yeelded,
Passion vnto my rage, Rage to a hastie reuenge.
But whats this for a fault, for which such fault is abolisht,
such faith, so staineles, inuiolate, violent?
Shall I not? ô may I not thus yet refresh the remembrance,
what sweete ioyes I had once, and what a place I did
hold?
Shall I not once obiect, that you, you graunted a fauour
vnto the man, whom now such miseries you awarde?
Red your thoghts to the dear sweet words which the[n] to
me giu'n were:
think what a world is now, think who hath altred her
hart.
What? was I then worthie such good, now worthie such euill?
now fled, then cherished? then so nie, now so
remote?
Did not a rosed breath, from lips more rosie proceeding,
say, that I should well finde in what a care I was
had?
With much more: now what doo I finde, but Care to abhor me,
Care that I sinke in griefe, Care that I liue
banished?
And banished doo I liue, nor now will seeke a recou'rie,
since so she will, whose will is to me more then a
lawe.
If then a man in most ill case may giue you a farewell;
farewell, long farewell, all my woe, all my delight.
CHAP.
2.
l The young Ladies mette: 2 inuited to the countrie-wenches
sports, 3
goe thether, 4 there are taken, and thence car-
ted to Amphialus castle. 5 Their
entertainement there.
6 Cecropias auricular confession of
her proud cariage in
prosperitie, 7 and ambitious practises in
aduersitie. 8 Am-
phialus his affection in these actions.
Hat this would haue wrought in her, she
her selfe could not
tell: for, before her
Reason could moderate the
disputation
betwene Fauour & Faultines, her sister, and Miso, called
her downe
to entertaine Zelmane, who was come to visite the two sisters;
about
whom, as about two Poles, the Skie of Beautie was turned: while Gynecia
wearied her bed with her melancholic sicknes, and made Misos
shrewdnesse (who like a sprite, sette to keep a treasure, barde Zelmane
from any further conference) to be the Lieutenant of her iealousie:
Both she and her husband, driuing Zelmane to such a streit of
resolution, either of impossible graunting, or dangerous refusing, as
the best escape she had, was (as much as she coulde) to auoyde their
companie. So as, this day, being the fourth day after the vprore,
(Basilius being with his sicke wife, conferring vpon such
examinations,
as Philanax, and other of his noble-men had made of this late
seditio[n],
all touching Cecropia with veheme[n]t suspition of giuing
either flame or
fuell vnto it) Zelmane came with her bodie, to find her mind,
which was
gone long before her, & had gotten his seate in Philoclea:
who now
with a bashfull cheerefulnesse (as though she were ashamed, that she
could not choose but be glad) ioyned with her sister, in making much of
Zelmane.
And so as they sate deuising how to giue more
feathers to the winges of
Time, there came to the
lodge dore, sixe maides, all
in one liuerie of
skarlette petticotes, which were tuckt vp almoste to their knees, the
petticoates them selues beinge in many places garnished with leaues,
their legges naked, sauing that aboue the anckles they had little black
silke laces, vpon which did hang a few siluer belles: like which they
had a little aboue their elbowes, vpon their bare armes. Vpon their
haire they ware garlands of roses and gilliflowers; and the haire was
so drest, as that came againe aboue the garlandes; enterchaunging a
mutuall couering: so as it was doubtfull, whether the haire drest the
garlandes, or the garlandes drest the haire. Their breasts liberall to
the eye: the face of the formoste [of] them, in excellencie faire; and
of
the rest louely, if not beautifull: and beautifull would haue bene, if
they had not suffered greedy Phœbus, ouer-often, and harde, to
kisse
them. Their countenaunces full of a gracefull grauitie; so as the
gesture matcht with the apparrell, it might seem a wanton modestie, and
an entising sobernes. Each of them had an instrument of musick in their
hands, which consorting their wel-pleasing tunes, did charge each eare
with vnsensiblenes, that did not lende it selfe vnto them. The Musicke
entring alone into the lodge, the Ladies were all desirous to see from
whence so pleasant a guest was come: and therefore went out together;
where, before they coulde take the paines to doubt, much lesse to aske
the question of their qualitie, the fairest of them (with a gay, but
yet discreete demeanour) in this sort spake vnto them. Most excellent
Ladies, (whose excellencies haue power to make cities enuie these
woods, and solitarines to be accounted the sweetest companie) vouchsafe
our message your gracious hearing, which as it comes from Loue, so
comes it from louely persons. The maides of all this coast of Arcadia,
vnderstanding the often accesse that certaine shepheards of these
quarters, are allowed to haue in this forbidden place; and that their
rurall sports are not disdained of you, haue bene stird with emulation
to them, and affection to you, to bring forth some thing, which might
as well breede your contentment: and therefore hoping that the goodnes
of their intention, & the hurtlesnes of their sex shall excuse the
breach of the commandeme[n]t in coming to this place vnsent for, they
chose out vs, to inuite both your princely parents, & your selues,
to a place in the woods about half a mile hence: where they haue
prouided some such sports, as they trust your gratious acceptatio[n]s
will interpret to be deliteful. We haue bene at the other lodge, but
finding them there, busied in weightier affaires, our trust is, that
you yet will not denie the shining of your eies vpo[n] vs.
The Ladies stood in some double, whether they should
goe or not, lest Basilius might be angry
withall. But Miso
(that had
bene at none of the pastorals, and had a great desire to lead her old
senses abroad to some pleasure) told them plainely, they should nor
will, nor choose, but go thether, and make the honest countrie people
know, that they were not so squeamish as folkes thought of them. The
Ladies glad to be warranted by her authoritie; with a smiling
humblenesse obeied her: Pamela only casting a seeking looke,
whether
she could see Dorus (who poore wretch wandred halfe mad for
sorrow in
the woods, crying for pardon of her, who could not heare him) but
indeed was grieued for his absence, hauing giuen the wound to him
through her owne harte. But so the three Ladies & Miso went
with
those six Nymphes, conquering the length of the way with the force of
musique, leauing only Mopsa behind, who disgraced weeping with
her
countenaunce, because her mother would not suffer her to shewe her
newskoured face among them. But the place apointed (as they thought)
met them halfe in their way, so well were they pleased with the sweete
tunes and prettie conuersation of their inuiters. There founde they in
the midst of the thickest part of the wood, a litle square place, not
burdened with trees, but with a boord couered, & beautified with
the pleasantest fruites, that Sun-burnd Autumne could deliuer vnto
the[m].
The maids besought the Ladies to sit downe, and tast of the swelling
grapes, which seemed great with child of Bacchus: & of the
diuers
coloured plums, which gaue the eye a pleasant tast before they came to
the mouth. The Ladies would not shew to scorne their prouision, but
eat, and dranke a little of their coole wine, which seemed to laugh for
ioy to come to such lips.
But after the collation was ended,
and that they looked for the coming foorth of such deuises, as
were
prepared for them, there rusht out of the woods twentie armed men, who
round about enuironed them, & laying hold of Zelmane before
she
could draw her sword, and taking it from her, put hoods ouer the heads
of all fower, and so muffled, by force set them on horsebacke and
carried them away; the sisters in vaine crying for succour, while Zelmanes
harte was rent in peeces with rage of the iniurie,
and
disdaine of her fortune. But when they had caried them a foure or fiue
mile further, they lefte Miso with a gagge in her mouth, and
bound hande
and foote, so to take her fortune: and brought the three Ladies (by
that time that the Night seemed with her silence to conspire to their
treason) to a castle about ten mile of from the Lodges: where they were
fayne to take a boate whiche wayted for them. For the castle stood in
the midst of a great lake, vppon a high rocke, where partly by Arte,
but principallie by Nature, it was by all men esteemed impregnable.
But at the Castle gate their faces
were discouered, and there were mett with a great number of
torches,
after whome the sisters knewe their aunt in lawe, Cecropia. But
that
sight increased the deadly terrour of the Princesses, looking for
nothing but death, since they were in the power of the wicked Cecropia:
who yet came vnto them, making curtesie the outside of mischiefe, and
desiring them not to be discomforted: for they were in a place
dedicated to their seruice. Philoclea (with a looke where
Loue shined
through the miste of Feare) besought her to be good vnto them, hauing
neuer deserued euill of her. But Pamelas high harte disdayning
humblenesse to iniurie, Aunt, (said she) what you haue determined of vs
I pray you doo it speedily: for my part I looke for no seruice, where I
finde violence.
But Cecropia (using no more wordes with
them)
conueyed them all three to seuerall lodgings (Zelmanes harte so
swelling with spite, that she coulde not bring foorth a worde) and so
lefte them: first taking from them their kniues, because they should do
themselues no hurte, before she had determined of them: and then giuing
such order that they wanted nothing but libertie, & comfort, she
went to her sonne, who yet kept his bed, because of his wound he had
receiued of Zelmane, & told him, whom now he had in his
power. Amphialus was but euen then returned from far countries,
where he had
wonne immortall fame, both of courage & curtesie, when he met with
the Princesses, and was hurt by Zelmane, so as he was vtterly
ignorant
of all his mothers wicked deuises; to which he would neuer haue
consented, being (like a rose out of a brier) an excellent sonne of an
euill mother: and now when he heard of this, was as much amazed, as if
he had seen the Sunne fall to the earth. And therefore desired his
mother that she would tell him the whole discourse, how all these
matters had happened.
Sonne (said she) I will doo it willingly, and since
all is done for you, I will hide nothing from you.
And howsoeuer I
might be ashamed to tell it strangers, who would thinke it wickednesse,
yet what is done for your sake (how euill soeuer to others) to you is
vertue. To begin then euen with the beginning, this doting foole Basilius
that now raignes, hauing liued vnmarried till he
was nigh
threescore yeares old (and in all his speaches affirming, and in all
his dooings assuring, that he neuer would marrie) made all the eyes of
the country to be bent vpon your father, his onely brother (but then
younger by thirty yeares) as vpon the vndoubted successour: being
indeed a man worthy to raigne, thinking nothing enough for himselfe:
where this goose (you see) puts downe his head, before there be any
thing neere to touch him. So that he holding place and estimation as
heyre of Arcadia, obteyned me of my father the King of Argos,
his
brother helping to the conclusion, with protesting his bachelerly
intention: for else you may be sure the King of Argos, nor his
daughter
would haue suffered their Royall bloud to be stained with the base name
of subiection. So that I came into this countrie as apparant Princesse
therof, and accordingly was courted, and followed of all the Ladies of
this countrie. My porte and pompe did well become a King of Argos daughter:
in my presence their tongues were turned into eares, &
their eares were captiues vnto my tongue. Their eyes admired my
Maiestie, & happy was he or she, on whom I would suffer the beames
thereof to fall. Did I goe to church? it seemed the very Gods wayted
for me, their deuotions not being solemnized till I was ready. Did I
walke abroad to see any delight? Nay, my walking was the delight it
selfe: for to it was the concourse; one thrusting vpon another, who
might shewe him selfe most diligent and seruiceable towardes me: my
sleepes were inquired after, and my wakings neuer vnsaluted: the very
gate of my house full of principall persons, who were glad, if their
presents had receaued a gratefull acceptation. And in this felicitie
wert thou borne, the very earth submitting it selfe vnto thee to be
troden on as by his Prince; and to that passe had my husbandes vertue
(by my good helpe) within short time brought it, with a plot we laide,
as we should not haue needed to haue waited the tedious worke of a
naturall end of Basilius, when the heaue[n]s (I thinke enuying
my great
felicity) the[n] stopt thy fathers breath, whe[n] he breathed nothing
but
power and soueraigntie. Yet did not thy orphancie, or my widdowhood,
depriue vs of the delightfull prospect, which the hill of honour dooth
yeeld, while expectation of thy succession did bind dependencies vnto
us.
But before,
(my sonne) thou wert
come to the age to feele the sweetnesse of authoritie, this beast (whom
I can neuer name with patience) falsely and foolishly married this Gynecia,
then a young girle, and brought her to sit aboue me in al
feasts, to turne her shoulder to me-ward in all our solemnities. It is
certaine, it is not so great a spite to be surmounted by straungers, as
by ones owne allies. Thinke then what my minde was, since withall there
is no question: The fall is greater from the first to the second, then
from the second to the vndermost. The rage did swell
in my harte, so much the more as it was faine to be suppressed in
sile[n]ce, & disguised with
humblenes. But aboue al the rest, the griefe of
grieues was, whe[n] with these daughters (now thy prisoners) she cut of
al
hope of thy successio[n]. It was a tedious thing to
me; that my eies should looke lower then any bodies, that
(my selfe being by) anothers voice then mine, should be more
respected. But it was insupportable vnto me, to think
that not only I, but thou shouldst spend al thy time in such misery,
& that the Sun should see my eldest son lesse then a
Prince. And though I had ben a sainct I could not
choose, finding the chau[n]ge this chauge of fortune bred vnto me, for
now
fro[m] the multitude of followers, sile[n]ce grew to be at my gate,
&
abse[n]ce in my presence. The guesse of my mind could
preuaile more before, then now many of my earnest
requests. And thou (my deare sonne) by the fickle
multitude no more then any ordinary person (borne of the mud of the
people) regarded. But I (reme[m]bring that in all
miseries, weeping becomes fooles, and practize wise
folks) haue tried, diuers meanes to pull vs out of the mire
of subiectio[n]. And though many times Fortune failed
me, yet did I neuer faile my self. Wild
beasts I kept in a caue hard by the lodges, which I caused by night to
be fed in the place of their pastorals, I as then liuing in my house
hard by the place, and against the houre they were
to meete (hauing kept the beasts without meate)
then let them loose, knowing that they would seeke their food
there, and deuoure what they founde. But blind
Fortune hating sharpe-sighted inuentions, made them vnluckily to be
killed. After, I vsed my seruant Clinias to stir a
notable tumult of country people: but those louts
were too grosse instruments for delicate
conceits. Now lastly, finding Philanax-his
examinations grow daungerous, I thought to play double or quit; &
with a sleight I vsed of my fine-witted we[n]ch Artesia, with
other maids
of mine, would haue sent these good inheritrixes of Arcadia, to
haue
pleaded their cause before Pluto, but that ouer-fortunatly for
the[m], you
made me know the last day how vehemently this childish passion of loue
doth torment you.
Therfore I haue brought them
vnto you, yet wishing
rather hate the[n] loue in you. For Hate often begetteth
victory; Loue commonly is the instrument of
subiection. It is true, that I would also by the same
practise haue entrapped the parents, but my maids failed of it, not
daring to tary long about it. But this sufficeth, since (these being
taken away) you are the vndoubted inheritor, and Basilius will
not long ouer-liue this losse.
O mother (said Amphialus) speake
not of
doing them hurt, no more then to mine eies, or my
hart, or if I haue
any thing more deare then eyes, or hart vnto me. Let others finde what
sweetnesse they will in euer fearing, because they are euer feared: for
my part, I will thinke my selfe highly intitled, if I may be once by Philoclea
accepted for a seruant. Well (said Cecropia)
I would I had
borne you of my minde, as well as of my body: then should you not haue
suncke vnder base weakenesses. But since you haue tied your thoughts in
so wilfull a knot, it is happie I haue brought matters to such a passe,
as you may both enioy affection, and vppon that build your
soueraigntie. Alas (said Amphialus) my hart would faine yeeld
you
thanks for setting me in the way of felicitie, but that feare killes
them in me, before they are fully borne. For if Philoclea be
displeased, how can I be pleased? if she count it vnkindnes, shal I
giue tokens of kindnes? perchance she co[n]demnes me of this action,
and
shall I triumph? perchance she drownes nowe the beauties I loue with
sorrowful teares, and where is then my reioicing? You haue reason (said
Cecropia with a feined grauitie) I will therefore send her
away
presently, that her contentment may be recouered. No good mother (said Amphialus)
since she is here, I would not for my life
constraine
presence, but rather would I die then co[n]sent to absence. Prety
intricat
follies (said Cecropia) but get you vp, & see how you can
preuaile
with her, while I go to the other sister. For after we shal haue our
hands full to defend our selues, if Basilius hap to besiege vs.
But
remembring herself, she turned back, & asked him what he woulde
haue done with Zelmane, since nowe he might be reuenged of his
hurt.
Nothing
but honorably, answered Amphialus,
hauing deserued no other of
me, especially being (as I heare) greatly cherished of Philoclea.
And
therefore I could wish they were lodged together. O no (said Cecropia) company confirmes
resolutio[n]s, & lonelines
breeds a
werines of ones thoughts, and so a sooner consenting to reasonable
profers.
CHAP.
3.
1 Amphialus addressing him to Philoclea. 2 Her melan-
cholie habit. 3 His
humble sute. 4 Her pitifull answere:
5 and his compassionate replie. 6 Their
parting with cold
comfort.
Vt Amphialus (taking of his
mother Philocleas kniues, which I he kept
as a relique,
since she had worne them) gat
vp, and calling for his
richest apparell, nothing seemed sumptuous inough for his mistresses
eyes: and that which was costly, he feared were not daintie: and though
the inuention were delicat, he misdoubted the making. As carefull he
was too of the colour; lest if gay, he might seeme to glorie in his
iniury, and her wrong; if mourning, it might strike some euill presage
vnto her of her fortune. At length he tooke a garment more rich then
glaring, the ground being black veluet, richly embrodered with great
pearle, & precious stones, but they set so among certaine tuffes of
cypres, that the cypres was like blacke clowds, through which the
starrs might yeeld a darke luster. About his necke he ware a brode
& gorgeous coller; whereof the pieces enterchangeably answering;
the one was of Diamonds and pearle, set with a white enamell, so as by
the cunning of the workman it seemed like a shining ice, and the other
piece being of Rubies, and Opalles, had a fierie glistring, which he
thought pictured the two passions of Feare and Desire, wherein he was
enchayned. His hurt (not yet fully well) made him a little halt, but he
straue to giue the best grace he could vnto his halting.
And in that sort he went to Philocleas
chamber:
whome he found (because her chamber was
ouer-lightsome) sitting of
that side of her bedde which was from the windowe; which did cast such
a shadow vpon her, as a good Painter woulde bestowe vppon Venus,
when vnder the trees she bewayled the murther of Adonis: her
handes and
fingers (as it were) indented one within the other: her shoulder
leaning to her beds head, and ouer her head a scarfe, which did eclipse
almost halfe her eyes, which vnder it fixed their beames vpon the wall
by, with so steddie a maner, as if in that place they might well
chaunge, but not mende their obiect: and so remayned they a good while
after his comming in, he not daring to trouble her, nor she perceyuing
him, till that (a little varying her thoughts something quickening her
senses) she heard him as he happed to stirre his vpper garment: and
perceyuing him, rose vp, with a demeanure, where in the booke of
Beautie there was nothing to be read but Sorrow: for Kindnesse was
blotted out, and Anger was neuer there.
But Amphialus that had entrusted
his
memorie with long and forcible speeches, found it so
locked vp in
amazement, that he could pike nothing out of it, but the beseeching her
to take what was don in good part, and to assure herselfe there was
nothing but honour meant vnto her person. But she making no other
aunswere, but letting her handes fall one from the other, which before
were ioyned (with eyes something cast aside, and a silent sigh) gaue
him to vnderstande, that considering his dooings, she thought his
speech as full of incongruitie, as her aunswere would be voyde of
purpose: whereuppon he kneeling downe, and kissing her hande, (which
she suffered with a countenaunce witnessing captiuitie, but not
kindnesse) he besought her to haue pitie of him, whose loue went
beyonde the boundes of conceite, much more of vttering: that in her
handes the ballance of his life or death did stande; whereto the least
motion of hers woulde serue to determine, she being indeede the
mistresse of his life, and he her eternall slaue; and with true
vehemencie besought her that he might heare her speake, whereupon she
suffered her sweete breath to turne it selfe into these kind of words.
Alas cousin, (saide she) what shall my
tongue be able to doo, which is infourmed by the eares one
way, and by
the eyes another? You call for pittie, and vse crueltie; you say, you
loue me, and yet do the effectes of enmitie. You affirme your death is
in my handes, but you haue brought me to so neere a degree to death, as
when you will, you may lay death vpon me: so that while you say I am
mistresse of your life, I am not mistresse of mine owne. You entitle
your selfe my slaue, but I am sure I am yours. If then violence,
iniurie, terror, and depriuing of that which is more dear then life it
selfe, libertie, be fit orators for affection, you may expect that I
will be easily perswaded. But if the nearenesse of our kinred breede
any remorse in you, or there be any such thing in you, which you call
loue towarde me, then let not my fortune be disgraced with the name of
imprisonment: let not my hart waste it selfe by being vexed with
feeling euill, and fearing worse. Let not me be a cause of my parents
wofull destruction; but restore me to my selfe; and so doing I shall
account I haue receyued my selfe of you. And what I say for my selfe, I
say for my deare sister, and my friend Zelmane: for I desire no
wel
being, without they may be partakers. With that her teares rained downe
from her heauenly eyes, and seemed to water the sweet and beautifull
flowers of her face.
But Amphialus was like the poore woman, who
louing a tame
Doe she had, aboue all earthly
things, hauing long played
withall, and
made it feede at her hand and lappe, is constrained at length by famine
(all her flocke being spent, and she fallen into extreeme pouertie) to
kill the Deare, to sustaine her life. Manie a pitifull looke doth she
cast vpon it, and many a time doth she draw backe her hand before she
can giue the stroke. For euen so Amphialusby
a hunger-sterued
affection, was compelled to offer this iniurie, and yet the same
affection made him with a tormenting griefe, thinke vnkindnesse in
himselfe, that he could finde in his hart any way to restraine her
freedome. But at length, neither able to grant, nor denie, he thus
answered her. Deare ladie (said he) I will not say vnto you (how iustly
soeuer I may do it) that I am neither author, nor accessarie vnto this
your withholding. For since I do not redres it, I am as faulty as if I
had begun it. But this I protest vnto you (and this protestation of
mine, let the heauens heare, and if I lie, let them answer me with a
deadly thunderbolt) that in my soule I wish I had neuer seene the
light, or rather, that I had neuer had a father to beget such a child,
the that by my meanes those eyes should ouerflow their owne beauties,
then by my meanes the skie of your vertue should be ouerclowded with
sorrow. But woe is me, most excellent Ladie, I finde my selfe most
willing to obey you: neither truely doo mine eares receaue the least
word you speak, with any lesse reuerence, then as absolute, and
vnresistable commaundements. But alas, that Tyrant Loue, (which now
possesseth the holde of all my life and reason) will no way suffer it.
It is Loue, it is Loue, not I, which disobey you. What then shall I
say? but that I, who am redie to lie vnder your feete, to venture, nay
to
loose my life at your least commandement: I am not the staye of your
freedome, but Loue, Loue, which ties you in your owne knots. It is you
your selfe, that imprison your selfe: it is your beautie which makes
these castle-walles embrace you: it is your owne eyes, which reflect
vpon themselues this iniurie. Then is there no other remedie, but that
you some way vouchsafe to satisfie this Loues vehemencie; which (since
it grewe in your selfe) without question you shall finde it (far more
then I) tractable.
But with these wordes Philoclea fell to so
extreame a quaking, and her
liuely whitenesse did degenerate to so dead a palenesse, that Amphialus
feared some daungerous traunce: so that taking her hande, and feelinge
that it (which was woonte to be one of the chiefe firebrands of Cupid)
had all the sense of it wrapt vp in coldnes, he began humblie to
beseech her to put away all feare, and to assure herselfe vpon the vowe
he made thereof vnto God, and her selfe, that the vttermost forces he
would euer employ to conquere her affection, should be Desire, and
Desert. That promise brought Philoclea againe to her selfe, so
that
slowly lifting vp her eyes vpon him, with a countenaunce euer
courteous, but then languishing, she tolde him, that he should doo well
to do so, if indeede he had euer tasted what true loue was: for that
where now she did beare him good will, she should (if he tooke any
other way) hate, and abhor the very thought of him: offering him
withall, that though his mother had taken away her kniues, yet the
house of Death had so many doores, as she would easilie flie into it,
if euer she founde her honor endaungered.
Amphialus hauing the colde ashes of Care
cast vpon the coales of Desire, leauing some of his
mothers Gentlewomen
to waite vpon Philoclea, himselfe indeede a prisoner to his
prisoner,
and making all his authoritie to be but a footestoole to Humblenes,
went from her to his mother. To whom with words which Affection
endited, but Amazement vttered, he deliuered what had passed betwene
him and Philoclea: beseeching her to trie what her perswasions
could
doo with her, while he gaue order for all such things as were
necessarie against such forces, as he looked dayly Basilius
would bring
before his castle. His mother bade him quiette him selfe, for she
doubted not to take fitte times. But that the best way was, first to
let her owne Passion a little tire it selfe.
CHAP.
4.
1 Amphialus warlike preparations. 2 His iustification. 3
His
fortifications. 4 His Arte of men.
5 His Loue-passions, and
passionate
complaints.
O they calling Clinias, and some
other of their counsell, aduised vpon their present
affaires. First, he dispatched
priuat letters to al
those principall Lords and gentlemen of the country, who[m] he thought
ether alliance, or friendship to himselfe might drawe; with speciall
motions from the generall consideration of duetie: not omitting all
such, whom either youthfull age, or youth-like mindes did fill with
unlimited desires: besides such, whom any discontentment made hungry of
change, or an ouer-spended wante, made want a ciuill warre: to each
(according to the counsell of his mother) conforming himselfe after
their humors. To his friends, friendlines; to the ambitious, great
expectations; to the displeased, reuenge; to the greedie, spoyle:
wrapping their hopes with such cunning, as they rather seemed giuen
ouer vnto them as partakers: then promises sprong of necessitie. Then
sent he to his mothers brother, the King of Argos: but he was
as then
so ouer-laide with warre himselfe, as from thence he could attend small
succour.
But because
he knewe, how violently rumors doo blow the sailes of
popular iudgeme[n]ts, & how few there be, that can discerne
betweene
trueth and truthlikenes, betweene showes and substance; he caused a
iustification of this his action to be written, wherof were sowed
abroad many copies, which with some glosses of probabilitie, might hide
indeede the foulenes of his treason; and from true common-places, fetch
downe most false applications. For, beginning how much the duetie which
is owed to the countrie, goes beyond all other dueties, since in it
selfe it conteines them all, and that for the respect therof, not onely
all tender respects of kinred, or whatsoeuer other friendshippes, are
to be laide aside, but that euen long-helde opinions (rather builded
vpon a secreate of gouernement, then any grou[n]d of truthe) are to be
forsaken. He fell by degrees to shew, that since the ende whereto any
thing is directed, is euer to be of more noble reckning, then the thing
thereto directed: that therefore, the weale-publicke was
more to be regarded, then any person or magistrate that thereunto was
ordeined. The feeling consideration whereof, had moued him (though as
nere of kinne to Basilius as could be, yet) to set
principally
before his eyes, the good estate of so many thousands, ouer
whom Basilius raigned: rather then so to hoodwinke himselfe
with
affection, as to suffer the realme to runne to manifest
ruine. The care whereof, did kindly appertaine to
those, who being subalterne magistrates and officers of the crowne,
were to be employed as fro[m] the Prince, so for the people; and of all
other, especiallie himselfe, who being descended of the Royall race,
and next heire male, Nature had no soner opened his
eyes, but that the soyle whereupon they did looke,
was to looke for at his hands a continuall carefulnes: which as fro[m]
his
childhood he had euer caried; so now finding that his vncle had
not only giue ouer al care of gouernment, but had put it into the hands
of Philanax, (a man neither in birth comparable to many, nor
for his
corrupt, prowde, and partiall dealing, liked of any) but beside, had
set his daughters (in whom the whole estate, as next heires thereunto,
had no lesse interest the[n] himselfe) in so vnfit & il-guarded a
place, as it was not only da[n]gerous for their persons, but (if they
should be conueied to any forraine country) to the whole common-wealth
pernicious: that therfore he had brought them into this stro[n]g castle
of
his, which way, if it might seem strange, they were to consider, that
new necessities require new
remedies:
but there they should be
serued &
honored as belonged to their greatnes, vntil by the generall assembly
of the estates, it should be determined how they should to their best
(both priuate, and publique) advantage be matched; vowing all faith
& duty both to the father & children, neuer by him to be
violated. But if in the meane time, before the
estates could be asse[m]bled, he were assailed, he would the[n] for his
own
defence take armes: desiring all, that either tendred the dangerous
case of their country, or in their harts loued iustice, to defe[n]d him
in
this iust actio[n]. And if the Prince should commaund
them otherwise, yet to know, that therein he was no more to be
obeied, then if he should call for poison to hurt himself
withall: since all that was done, was done for his seruice, howsoeuer
he might (seduced by Philanax) interprete of it: he protesting,
that
what soeuer he should doo for his owne defence, should be against Philanax,
& no way against Basilius.
To this effect:, amplified with
arguments and
examples, and painted with rhetoricall colours, did he sow abroad many
discourses: which as they preuayled with some of more quicke then
sounde conceipte, to runne his fortune with him; so in many did it
breed a coolenesse, to deale violently against him, and a false-minded
neutralitie to expect the issue. But besides the waies he vsed to
weaken the aduerse partie, he omitted nothing for the strengthning of
his owne. The chiefe trust whereof (because he wanted men to keepe the
field) he reposed in the suretie of his castle; which at lest would
winne him much time, the mother of many mutations. To that therfore he
bent his outward & inward eyes, striuing to make Art striue with
Nature, to whether of them two that fortification should be most
beholding. The seat Nature bestowed, but Arte gaue the building: which
as his rocky hardnesse would not yeeld to vndermining force, so to ope
assaults he tooke counsell of skill, how to make all approches, if not
impossible, yet difficult; as well at the foot of the castle, as round
about the lake, to giue vnquiet lodgings to the[m], whom onely enmitie
would make neighbors. Then omitted he nothing of defence, as wel simple
defence, as that which did defend by offending, fitting instrume[n]ts
of
mischiefe to places, whence the mischiefe might be most liberally
bestowed. Nether was his smallest care for victuals, as wel for the
prouiding that which should suffice both in store & goodnesse, as
in well preseruing it, and wary distributing it, both in quantitie, and
qualitie; spending that first which would keepe lest.
But wherein he sharpned his
wits to the pearcingest
point, was touching his men (knowing them to be the weapon of weapons,
& master-spring (as it were) which makes all the rest to stir; and
that therefore in the Arte of man stood the quintessence, & ruling
skill of all prosperous gouernement, either peaceable, or military) he
chose in number as many as without pestring (and so daunger of
infection) his victuall would seem for two yeare to maintaine; all of
liable bodies, and some few of able mindes to direct, not seeking many
commaunders, but contenting himselfe, that the multitude should haue
obeying wills, euery one knowing whom he should commaund, and whom he
should obey, the place where, and the matter wherein; distributing
each office as neere as he could, to the disposition of the person that
should exercise it: knowing no loue, daunger, nor discipline can
sodainly alter an habite in nature. Therfore would he not employ the
stil ma[n] to a shifting practise, nor the liberall man to be a
dispenser
of his victuals, nor the kind-harted man to be a punisher: but would
exercise their vertues in sorts, where they might be profitable,
employing his chief care to know the all particularly, & throughly,
regarding also the co[n]stitutio[n] of their bodies; some being able
better
to abide watching, some hu[n]ger, some labour, making his benefit of
ech
hability, & not forcing beyond power. Time to euery thing by iust
proportio[n] he allotted, & as well in that, as in euery thing els,
no
small errour winckt at, lest greater should be animated. euen of vices
he made his profite, making the cowardly Clinias to haue care
of the
watch, which he knew his own feare would make him very wakefully
performe. And before the siege began, he himselfe caused rumors to be
sowed, and libels to be spread against himselfe, fuller of mallice,
then witty persuasion: partly, to knowe those that would be apt to
stumble at such motions, that he might cull them from the faithfuller
band; but principally, because in necessitie they should not know when
any such thing were in earnest attempted, whether it were, or not, of
his owne inuention. But euen then (before the enemies face came neere
to breed any terrour) did he exercise his men dayly in all their
charges, as if Daunger had presently presented his most hideous
presence: him selfe rather instructing by example, then precept; being
neither more sparing in trauaile, nor spe[n]ding in diet, then the
meanest
souldier: his hand and body disdaining no base matters, nor shrinking
from the heauy.
The onely ods was, that when
others tooke breath, he
sighed; and when others rested, he crost his armes. For Loue passing
thorow the pikes of Dau[n]ger, & tumbling it selfe in the dust of
Labour, yet still made him remember his sweete desire, and beautifull
image. Often when he had begun to commaund one, somewhat before halfe
the sentence were ended, his inward guest did so entertaine him, that
he would breake it of, and a prettie while after end it, when he had
(to the marvaile of the standers by) sent himself in to talke with his
own thoughts. Sometimes when his hand was lifted vp to some thing, as
if with the sight of Gorgons head he had bene sodainely turned
into a
stone, so would he there abide with his eyes planted, and handes
lifted, till at length, comming to the vse of himself, he would looke
about whether any had perceiued him; then would he accuse, and in
himselfe condemne all those wits, that durst affirme Idlenesse to be
the well-spring of Loue. O, would he say, al you that affect the title
of wisdome, by vngratefull scorning the ornaments of Nature, am I now
piping in a shaddow? or doo slouthfull feathers now enwrap me? Is not
hate before me, and doubte behinde me? is not daunger of the one side,
and shame of the other? And doo I not stande vpon paine, and trauaile,
and yet ouer all, my affection triumphes? The more I stirre about
urgent affaires, the more me thinks the very stirring breeds a breath
to blow the coales of my loue: the more I exercise my thoughts, the
more they encrease the appetite of my desires. O sweet Philoclea
(with
that he would cast vp his eies wherin some water did appeare, as if
they would wash themselues against they should see her) thy heauenly
face is my Astronomie; thy sweet vertue, my sweet Philosophie: let me
profile therein, and farewell all other cogitations. But alas, my mind
misgiues me, for your planets beare a contrarie aspect vnto me. Woe,
woe is me, they threaten my destruction: and whom doo they threaten
this destruction? euen him that loues them; and by what means will
they destroy, but by louing them? O deare (though killing) eyes, shall
death head his darte with the golde of Cupids arrowe? Shall
death take
his ayme from the rest of Beautie? O beloued (though hating) Philoclea,
how if thou beest mercifull, hath crueltie stolne into thee? Or how if
thou beest cruell, doth crueltie looke more mercifull then euer Mercie
did? Or alas, is it my destinie that makes Mercie cruell? Like an
euill vessell which turnes sweete licour to sowernes; so when thy grace
fals vpon me, my wretched constitution makes it become fiercenesse.
Thus would he exercise his eloquence, when she could not heare him, and
be dumbe-striken, when her presence gaue him fit occasion of speaking:
so that his witte could finde out no other refuge, but the comfort and
counsell of his mother, desiring her (whose thoughts were vnperplexed)
to vse for his sake the most preuailing manners of intercession.
CHAP.
5.
1 Suttle Cecropia visites sad Philoclea. 2 The
shamelesse
Aunt's shrewd
temptations to loue and mariage: The mo-
dest neeces maidenly resistance.
Ecropia seing her sonnes safetie
depende thereon, (though her
pride much
disdained the name of a
desire) tooke the charge vpon her,
not doubting the easie conquest of an vnexpert virgin, who had alreadie
with subtiltie and impudencie begun to vndermine a monarchy. Therfore,
waighing Philocleas resolutions by the counterpease of her own
youthful thoughts, which she then called to minde, she doubted not at
least to make Philoclea receiue the poyson distilled in sweete
liquour,
which she with little disguising had drunke vp thirstily. Therefore she
went softly to Philocleas chamber, & peeping through the
side of
the doore, then being a little open, she sawe Philoclea sitting
lowe vpon a cushion, in such a giuen-ouer manner, that one would haue
thought, silence, solitarinesse, and melancholic were come there, vnder
the ensigne of mishap, to conquere delight, and driue him from his
naturall seate of beautie: her teares came dropping downe like rainein
Sunshine, and she not taking heede to wipe the teares, they ranne downe
vpon her cheekes, and lips, as vpon cherries which the dropping tree
bedeweth. In the dressing of her haire and apparell, she might see
neither a careful arte, nor an arte of carelesnesse, but euen left to a
neglected chaunce, which yet coulde no more vnperfect her perfections,
then a Die anie way cast, could loose his squarenesse.
Cecropia (stirred with
no other pitie, but for her son) came in, and
haling kindnesse into her countenance, What ayles this sweete Ladie,
(said she) will you marre so good eyes with weeping? shall teares take
away the beautie of that complexion, which the women of Arcadia
wish
for, and the men long after? Fie of this peeuish sadnesse; in sooth
it is vntimely for your age. Looke vpon your owne bodie, and see
whether it deserue to pine away with sorrow: see whether you will haue
these hands (with that she tooke one of her hands and kissing it,
looked vppon it as if she were enamoured with it) fade from their
whitenesse, which makes one desire to touch them; & their
softnesse, which rebounds againe a desire to looke on them, and become
drie, leane and yellowe, and make euerie bodie woonder at the chaunge,
and say, that sure you had vsed some arte before, which nowe you had
left? for if the beauties had beene naturall, they woulde neuer so
soone haue beene blemished. Take a glasse, and see whether these tears
become your eies: although, I must co[n]fesse, those eies are able to
make
tears comely. Alas Madame (answered Philoclea) I know not
whether my
teares become mine eyes, but I am sure mine eies thus beteared, become
my fortune. Your fortune (saide Cecropia) if she could see to
attire
herselfe, would put on her best raiments. For I see, and I see it with
griefe, and (to tell you true) vnkindnes: you misconster euery thing,
that only for your sake is attempted. You thinke you are offended, and
are indeed defended: you esteeme your selfe a prisoner, and are in
truth a mistres: you feare hate, and shall find loue. And truely, I
had a thing to say to you, but it is no matter, since I find you are so
obstinatly melancholy, as that you woo his felowship: I will spare my
paines, and hold my peace: And so staied indeede, thinking Philoclea
would haue had a female inquisitiuenesse of the matter. But she, who
rather wished to vnknowe what she knewe, then to burden her hart with
more hopeles knowledge, only desired her to haue pity of her, and if
indeed she did meane her no hurt, then to grant her liberty: for else
the very griefe & feare, would proue her vnappointed executioners.
For that (said Cecropia)
beleue me vpo[n] the faith of a kings
daughter, you shall be free, so soone as your freedome may be free of
mortal da[n]ger, being brought hither for no other cause, but to
preuent
such mischiefes as you know not of. But if you thinke indeed to winne
me to haue care of you, euen as of mine owne daughter, then lend your
eares vnto me, & let not your mind arme it self with a wilfulnesse
to be flexible to nothing. But if I speake reason, let Reason haue his
due reward, persuasion. Then sweet neece (said she) I pray you
presuppose, that now, eue[n] in the midst of your agonies, which you
paint vnto your selfe most horrible, wishing with sighes, & praying
with
vowes. for a soone & safe deliuerie. Imagin neece (I say) that some
heauenly spirit should appeare vnto you, and bid you follow him through
the doore, that goes into the garden, assuring you, that you should
therby return to your deare mother, and what other delights
soeuer your mind esteemes delights: would you (sweet neece) would you
refuse to folow him, & say, that if he led you not through the
chiefe gate, you would not enioy your ouer-desired liberty? Would you
not drinke the wine you thirst for, without it were in such a glasse,
as you especially fancied? tel me (deare neece:) but I wil answer for
you, because I know your reason and will is such, as must needs
conclude, that such nicenesse can no more be in you, to disgrace such a
mind, then disgracefulnesse can haue any place in so faultles a beauty.
Your wisdom would assuredly determin, how the marke were hit, not
whether the bow were of Ewe or no, wherein you shot. If this be so, and
thus sure (my deare neece) it is, then (I pray you) imagin, that I am
that same good Angel, who grieuing in your griefe, and in truth not
able to suffer, that bitter sighs should be sent foorth with so sweete
a breath, am come to lead you, not only to your desired, and imagined
happines, but to a true and essentiall happines; not only to liberty,
but to libertie with commandement. The way I will shew you (which if it
be not the gate builded hitherto in your priuate choise, yet shall it
be a doore to bring you through a garden of pleasures, as sweet as this
life can bring foorth; nay rather, which makes this life to be a life:
(My son,) let it be no blemish to him that I name him my son, who was
your fathers own nephew: for you know I am no smal kings daughter,) my
sonne (I say) farre passing the neernesse of his kinred, with the
neernesse of good-will, and striuing to match your matchlesse beautie
with a matchlesse affection, doth by me present vnto you the full
enioying of your liberty, so as with this gift you wil accept a
greater, which is, this castell, with all the rest which you knowe he
hath, in honorable quantitie; and will confirme his gift, and your
receipt of both, with accepting him to be yours. I might say much both
for the person and the matter; but who will crie out the Sun shines? It
is so manifest a profit vnto you, as the meanest iudgement must
straight apprehend it: so farre is it from the sharpenesse of yours,
therof to be ignorant. Therfore (sweet neece) let your gratefulnes be
my intercession, & your gentlenesse my eloquence, and let me cary
comfort to a hart which greatly needs it. Philoclea looked
vpon her,
& cast downe her eie again. Aunt (said she) I would I could be so
much a mistres of my
owne mind, as to yeelde to my cousins vertuous request: for so I
construe of it. But my hart is already set (and staying a while on that
word, she brought foorth afterwards) to lead a virgins life to my
death: for such a vow I haue in my selfe deuoutly made. The heauens
preuent such a mischiefe (said Cecropia.) A vowe, quoth you?
no, no, my deere neece, Nature, when you were first borne, vowed you a
woma[n],
& as she made you child of a mother, so to do your best to be
mother of a child: she gaue you beautie to moue loue; she gaue you wit
to know loue; she gaue you an excelle[n]t body to reward loue: which
kind
of liberall rewarding is crowned with vnspeakable felicitie. For this,
as it bindeth the receiuer, so it makes happy the bestower: this doth
not impouerish, but enrich the giuer. O the sweet name of a mother: O
the co[m]fort of co[m]forts, to see your childre[n] grow vp, in who[m]
you are (as
it were) eternized: if you could conceiue what a hart-tickling ioy it
is to see your own litle ones, with awfull loue come running to your
lap, and like litle models of your selfe, still cary you about them,
you would thinke vnkindnes in your own thoughts, that euer they did
rebell against the mean vnto it. But percha[n]ce I set this blessednes
before your eies, as Captains do victorie before their souldiers, to
which they might come through many paines, grieues & dangers. No, I
am co[n]tent you shrinke from this my counsel, if the way to come vnto
it,
be not most of all pleasant. I know not (answered the sweet Philoclea,
fearing least silence would offend her sullennes) what contentment you
speake of: but I am sure the best you can make of it, (which is
mariage) is a burdenous yoke. Ah, deer neece (said Cecropia)
how much
you are deceiued? A yoke indeed we all beare, laid vpo[n] vs in our
creation, which by mariage is not increased, but thus farre eased, that
you haue a yoke-fellow to help to draw through the cloddy cumbers of
this world. O widow-nights, beare witnes with me of the difference. How
often alas do I embrace the orfan-side of my bed, which was wo[n]t to
be
imprinted by the body of my deare husband, & with teares
acknowledge, that I now enioy such a liberty as the banished ma[n]
hath;
who may, if he list, wa[n]der ouer the world, but is euer restrained
fro[m]
his most delightful home? that I haue now such a liberty as the
seele[y]
dou hath, which being first depriued of eies, is then by the falconer
cast off?
For beleue me, neece, beleue me, mans experie[n]ce is woma[n]s best
eie-sight. Haue you euer seene a pure Rosewater kept in a christal
glas; how fine it lokes, how sweet it smels, while that beautifull
glasse imprisons it? Breake the prison, and let the water take his
owne course, doth it not imbrace dust, and loose all his former
sweetenesse, and fairenesse? Truly so are we, if we haue not the stay,
rather then the restraint of Cristalline mariage. My hart meltes to
thinke of the sweete comfortes, I in that happie time receiued, when I
had neuer cause to care, but the care was doubled: whe[n] I neuer
reioiced, but that I saw my ioy shine in anothers eies. What shall I
say of the free delight, which the hart might embrace, without the
accusing of the inward conscience, or feare of outward shame? and is a
solitary life as good as this? then can one string make as good musicke
as a consort: the[n] can one colour set forth a beautie. But it may be,
the generall consideration of mariage dooth not so much mislike you, as
the applying of it to him. He is my sone, I must confesse, I see him
with a mothers eyes, which if they doo not much deceiue me, he is no
such one, ouer whom Contempt may make any iust chalenge. He is comely,
he is noble, he is rich; but that which in it selfe should carie all
comelinesse, nobilitie, and riches, he loues you; and he loues you, who
is beloued of others. Driue not away his affection (sweete Ladie) and
make no other Ladie hereafter proudly bragge, that she hath robbed you
of so faithfull and notable a seruant. Philoclea heard some
pieces of
her speches, no otherwise then one doth when a tedious pratler
co[m]bers
the hearing of a delightful musicke. For her thoughts had left her
eares in that captiuitie, and conueied themselues to behold (with such
eies as imagination could lend the[m]) the estate of her Zelmane:
for who
how wel she thought many of those sayings might haue ben vsed with a
farre more gratefull acceptation. Therefore listing not to dispute in a
matter whereof her selfe was resolute, and desired not to enforme the
other, she onely told her, that whilest she was so captiued, she could
not conceiue of any such persuasions (though neuer so reasonable) any
otherwise, then as constraints: and as constraints must needs eue[n] in
nature abhor the[m], which at her libertie, in their owne force of
reason,
might more preuaile with her: and so faine would haue returned the
strength of Cecropias perswasions, to haue procured freedome.
CHAP.
6.
1 Fresh motiues to
Philoclea. 2 Cecropias new fetch to at-
tempt Pamela.
3 Pamelas prayer, 4 and Sainct-like gra-
ces in it. 5 Her Auntes
fruiteles argumentes.
Vt neither her wittie wordes
in an enemie, nor those
wordes, made more then
eloquent with passing through
such lips, could
preuaile in Cecropia, no more then her perswasions coulde winne
Philoclea to disauowe her former vowe, or to leaue the
prisoner Zelmane, for the commaunding Amphialus. So
that both
sides being
desirous, and neither graunters, they brake of conference. Cecropiasucking
vp more and more spite out of her deniall, which yet for her
sonnes sake, she disguised with a visarde of kindnes, leauing no office
vnperfourmed, which might either witnes, or endeare her sonnes
affection. Whatsoeuer could be imagined likely to please her, was with
liberall diligence perfourmed: Musickes at her windowe, &
especially such Musickes, as might (with dolefull embassage) call the
mind to thinke of sorow, and thinke of it with sweetnes; with ditties
so sensiblie expressing Amphialus case, that euerie worde
seemed to be
but a diuersifying of the name of Amphialus. Daily presents, as
it were
oblations, to pacific an angrie Deitie, sent vnto her: wherein, if the
workmanship of the forme, had striuen with the sumptuousnes of the
matter, as much did the inuention in the application, contende to haue
the chiefe excellencie: for they were as so many stories of his
disgraces, & her perfections; where the richnes did inuite the
eyes, the fashion did entertaine the eyes, and the deuice did teach the
eyes the present miserie of the presenter himselfe, awefully
seruiceable: which was the more notable, as his authoritie was
manifest. And for the bondage wherein she liued, all meanes vsed to
make knowen, that if it were a bondage, it was a bondage onely knitte
in loue-knots. But in harte alreadie vnderstanding no language but one,
the Musicke wrought indeede a dolefulnes, but it was a dolefulnes to be
in his power: the dittie intended for Amphialus, she translated
to Zelmane:
the presents seemed so many tedious clogs of
a thralled obligation: and his seruice, the more diligent it was, the
more it did exprobrate (as she thought) vnto her, her vnworthie estate:
that euen he that did her seruice, had authentic of commanding her,
onely construing her seruitude in his own nature, esteeming it a right,
and a right bitter seruitude: so that all their shots (how well soeuer
leuelled) being carried awrie from the marke, by the storme of her
mislike, the Prince Amphialus affectionately languished, & Cecropia
spitefullie cunning, disdained at the barrennes of their successe.
Which willingly Cecropia
woulde
haue reuenged, but that she sawe, her hurte could not be diuided from
her sonnes mischiefe: wherefore, she bethought her self to attempt Pamela,
whose beautie being equall, she hoped, if she might
be woon,
that her sonnes thoughtes would rather rest on a beautifull
gratefulnes, then still be tormented with a disdaining beautie.
Wherfore, giuing new courage to her wicked inuentions, and vsing the
more industry, because she had mist in this, & taking euen precepts
of preuailing in Pamela, by her fayling in Philoclea,
she went to her
chamber, & (according to her own vngratious method of a subtile
proceeding) stood listning at the dore, because that out of the
circustance of her present behauiour, there might kindly arise a fitte
beginning of her intended discourse.
And so she might perceaue that Pamela
did walke vp and down, full of deep (though patient)
thoughts.
For her look and countenance was setled, her pace soft, and almost
still of one measure, without any passionate gesture, or violent
motion: till at length (as it were) awaking, & strengthning her
selfe, Well (said she) yet this is the best, & of this I am sure,
that how soeuer they wro[n]g me, they cannot ouermaster God. No darknes
blinds his eyes, no Iayle barres him out. To whome then else should I
flie, but to him for succoure? And therewith kneeling down, eue[n] in
the
same place where she stood, she thus said. O all-seeing Light, and
eternal Life of all things, to whom nothing is either so great, that it
may resist; or so small, that it is contemned: looke vpon my miserie
with thine eye of mercie, and let thine infinite power vouchsafe to
limite out some proportion of deliuerance vnto me, as to thee shall
seem most conuenient. Let not iniurie, ô Lord, triumphe ouer me,
and let my faultes by thy handes be corrected, and make not mine
vniuste enemie the minister of thy Iustice. But yet, my God, if in thy
wisdome, this be the aptest chastizement for my inexcusable follie; if
this low bondage be fittest for my ouer-hie desires; if the pride of my
not-inough humble harte, be thus to be broken, O Lord, I yeeld vnto thy
will, and ioyfully embrace what sorrow thou wilt haue me suffer. Onely
thus much let me craue of thee, (let my crauing, ô Lord, be
accepted of
thee, since euen that proceedes from thee) let me craue, euen by the
noblest title, which in my greatest affliction I may giue my selfe,
that I am thy creature, & by thy goodnes (which is thy self) that
thou wilt suffer some beame of thy Maiestie so to shine into my mind,
that it may still depende confidently vpon thee. Let calamitie be the
exercise, but not the ouerthrowe of my vertue: let their power
preuaile, but preuaile not to destruction: let my greatnes be their
praie: let my paine be the sweetnes of their reuenge: let them (if so
it seem good vnto thee) vexe me with more and more punishment. But,
ô
Lord, let neuer their wickednes haue such a hand, but that I may carie
a pure minde in a pure bodie. (And pausing a while) And ô most
gracious
Lord (said she) what euer become of me, preserue the vertuous Musidorus.
The other parte Cecropia
might well heare, but this latter prayer for Musidorus, her
hart helde it, as so iewel-like a treasure,
that it
would scarce trust her owne lippes withall. But this prayer, sent to
heauen, from so heauenly a creature, with such a feruent grace, as if
Deuotion had borowed her bodie, to make of it self a most beautifull
representation; with her eyes so lifted to the skie-ward, that one
would haue thought they had begunne to flie thetherward, to take their
place amo[n]g their felow stars; her naked hands raising vp their whole
length, & as it were kissing one another, as if the right had bene
the picture of Zeale, and the left, of Humblenesse,
which both vnited
themselues to make their suites more acceptable. Lastly, all her senses
being rather tokens then instruments of her inwarde motions, altogether
had so straunge a working power, that euen the harde-harted wickednesse
of Cecropia,
if it founde not a loue of that goodnes, yet it felt an
abashment at that goodnes; & if she had not a kindly remorse, yet
had she an yrksome accusation of her owne naughtines, so that she was
put fro[m] the biasse of her fore-intended lesson. For well she found
there was no way at that time to take that mind, but with some, at
lest, image of Vertue, and what the figure thereof was her hart knew
not.
Yet did she prodigally spende
her
uttermost eloquence, leauing no argument vnproued, which might with any
force inuade her excellent iudgement: the iustnes of the request being,
but for marriage; the worthinesse of the suiter: then her owne present
fortune, if she would not onely haue amendment, but felicitie: besides
falsely making her belieue, that her sister would thinke her selfe
happie, if now she might haue his loue which before she contemned: and
obliquely touching, what daunger it should be for her, if her sonne
should accept Philoclea in marriage, and so match the next
heire
apparant, she being in his powre: yet plentifully periuring, how
extreamely her sonne loued her, and excusing the little shewes he made
of it, with the dutifull respect he bare vnto her, & taking vpo[n]
her
selfe that she restrayned him, since she found she could set no limits
to his passions. And as she did to Philoclea, so did she to
her, with
the tribute of gifts, seeke to bring her minde into seruitude: and all
other meanes, that might either establish a beholdingnesse, or at the
lest awake a kindnes; doing it so, as by reason of their imprisonment,
one sister knew not how the other was wooed; but each might thinke,
that onely she was sought. But if Philoclea with sweete and
humble
dealing did auoid their assaults, she with the Maiestie of Vertue did
beate them of.
CHAP.
7.
1 An Allarme to the Amphialians.
2 Base cowardise in
Clinias; 3 braue
courage imaged in Amphialus.
4 His onset with the death of two
friendes his foes.
5 The horrour of Mars-his game. 6 Two
deaths taken
where they were not lookt for, the third
delayed where
it was expected.
Vt this day their speach was
the sooner broken of, by
reason that he, who stood
as watche vpon the top of the
keepe, did not
onely see a great dust arise (which the earth sent vp, as if it would
striue to haue clowdes as well as the aire) but
might spie sometimes, especially when the dust (wherein the naked winde
did apparaile it self) was caried aside fro[m] them, the shining of
armour, like flashing of lightning, wherwith the clowdes did seeme to
be with child; which the Sunne guilding with his beames, it gaue a
sight delightfull to any, but to them that were to abide the terrour.
But the watch gaue a quick Alarum to the souldiers within, whome
practise already hauing prepared, began each, with vnabashed hartes, or
at lest countenaunces, to looke to their charge, or obedience, which
was allotted vnto them.
Onely Clinias and Amphialus did
exceed the bounds of: mediocrity: the
one in his naturall
coldnesse of cowardise, the
other in heate of
courage. For Clinias (who was bold onely in busie whisperings,
and euen
in that whisperingnes rather indeed confident in his cunning, that it
should not be bewraied, then any way bolde, if euer it should be
bewrayed) now that the enemy gaue a dreadful aspect vnto the castle,
his eyes saw no terror, nor eare heard any martiall sounde, but that
they multiplied the hideousnesse of it to his mated minde. Before their
comming he had many times felt a dreadfull expectation, but yet his
minde (that was willing to ease it selfe of the burden of feare) did
somtimes feine vnto it selfe possibility of let; as the death of Basilius,
the discord of the nobility, & (when other
cause
fayled
him) the nature of chaunce serued as a cause vnto him: and sometimes
the hearing other men speake valiantly, and the quietnesse of his
vnassailed senses, would make himselfe beleue, that he durst do
something. But now, that present daunger did display it selfe vnto his
eye, & that a daungerous dooing must be the onely meane to
preue[n]t
the da[n]ger of suffering, one that had marked him would haue iudged,
that
his eies would haue run into him, & his soule out of him; so
vnkindly did either take a sent of danger. He thought the lake was too
shallow, & the walles too thin: he misdouted ech mans treason, and
coniectured euery possibilitie of misfortune, not onely fore-casting
likely perils, but such as all the planets together could scarce haue
conspired: & already began to arme him selfe, though it was
determined he should tarrie within doores; and while he armed himselfe,
imagined in what part of the vault he might hide himselfe if the
enimies wonne the castle. Desirous he was that euery body should do
valiantly, but
himselfe; and therefore was afraid to shew his feare, but for very
feare would haue hid his feare; lest it should disco[m]fort others: but
the more he sought to disguize it, the more the vnsutablenes of a weake
broke[n] voice to high braue wordes, and of a pale shaking countenance
to
a gesture of animating, did discouer him.
But quite contrarily Amphialus,
who before the enimies came was carefull, prouidently diligent, and not
somtimes without doubting of the issue; now the nearer danger approched
(like the light of a glow-worme) the lesse still it seemed: and now his
courage began to boile in choler, and with such impatience to desire to
powre out both vpo[n] the enimie, that he issued presently into
certaine
boates he had of purpose, and carying with him some choise men, went to
the fortresse he had vpo[n] the edge of the lake, which he thought
would
be the first thing, that the enimy would attempt; because it was a
passage, which co[m]manding all that side [of] that country, &
being
lost would stop victuall, or other supply, that might be brought into
the castle: & in that fortresse hauing some force of horsemen, he
issued out with two hundred horse, & fiue hu[n]dred footmen,
embushed
his footme[n] in the falling of a hill, which was ouershadowed with a
wood, he with his horsme[n] went a quarter of a mile further; aside
ha[n]d of
which he might perceaue the many troupes of the enimie, who came but to
take view where best to encampe themselues.
But as if the sight of the
enimie
had bene a Magnes stone to his courage he could not co[n]taine himself,
but shewing his face to the enimie, & his backe to his souldiers,
used that action, as his onely oration, both of denouncing warre to the
one, and persuading help of the other. Who faithfully folowing an
example of such authoritie, they made the earth to grone vnder their
furious burden, and the enimies to begin to be angry with the[m], whom
in
particular they knew not. Among whom there was a young man, youngest
brother to Philanax, whose face as yet did not bewray his sex,
with so
much as shew of haire; of a minde hauing no limits of hope, nor knowing
why to feare; full of iollitie in conuersation, and lately growne a
Louer. His name was Agenor,
of all that armie the most beautifull: who
hauing ridden in sportfull conuersatio[n] among the foremost, all armed
sauing that his beauer was vp, to haue his breath in more
freedome, seing Amphialus come a pretty way before his
co[m]pany, neither
staying the com[m]aundement of the captaine, nor recking whether his
face
were armed, or no, set spurs to his horse, & with youthfull brauery
casting his staffe about his head, put it then in his rest, as carefull
of comely carying it, as if the marke had ben but a ring, & the
lookers on Ladies. But Amphialus launce was already come to the
last of
his descending line, and began to make the full point of death against
the head of this young Gentleman, when Amphialus perceyuing
his youth
and beautie, Compassion so rebated the edge of Choller, that he spared
that faire nakednesse, and let his staffe fall to Agenors vamplat:
so
as both with braue breaking should hurtleslie haue perfourmed that
match, but that the pittilesse launce of Amphialus (angry with
being
broken) with an vnlucky counterbuffe full of vnsparing splinters,
lighted vpon that face farre fitter for the combats of Venus;
geuing
not onely a suddaine, but a fowle death, leauing scarsely any tokens of
his former beautie: but his ha[n]ds abandoning the reynes, and his
thighes
the saddle, he fell sidewarde from the horse. Which sight comming to Leontius,
a deere friende of his, who in vayne had
lamentably cried vnto him to stay, when he saw him beginne his careere,
it was harde to
say, whether pittie of the one, or reuenge of the other, helde as then
the soueraigntie in his passions. But while he directed his eye to his
friende, and his hande to his enimie, so wrongly-consorted a power
could not resist the ready minded force of Amphialus: who
perceyuing
his il-directed direction against him, so paide him his debt before it
was lent, that he also fell to the earth, onely happy that one place,
& one time, did finish both their loues and liues together.
But by this time there had bene
a furious meeting of either side:
where after the terrible salutation of warlike noyse, the shaking of
handes was with sharpe weapons: some launces according to the mettall
they mett, and skill of the guider, did staine themselues in bloud;
some flew vp in pieces, as if they would threaten heauen, because they
fayled on earth. But their office was quickly inherited, either by (the
Prince of weapons) the sworde, or by some heauy mase, or biting axe;
which hunting still the weakest chase, sought euer to light there,
where smallest resista[n]ce might worse preuent mischief. The
clashing of armour, and crushing of staues; the iustling of bodies, the
resounding of blowes, was the first part of that ill-agreeing musicke,
which was beautified with the griselinesse of wounds, the rising of
dust, the hideous falles, and grones of the dying. The verie horses
angrie in their maisters anger, with loue and obedience brought foorth
the effects of hate and resistance, and with minds of seruitude, did as
if they affected glorie. Some lay deade vnder their dead maisters,
whome vnknightly wounds had vniustly punished for a faithfull dutie.
Some lay vppon their Lordes by like accidents, and in death had the
honour to be borne by them, who in life they had borne. Some hauing
lost their commaunding burthens, ranne scattered about the field,
abashed with the madnesse of man-kinde. The earth it selfe (woont to be
a buriall of men) was nowe (as it were) buried with men: so was the
face thereof hidden with deade bodies, to whome Death had come masked
in diuerse manners. In one place lay disinherited heades, dispossessed
of their naturall seignories: in an other, whole bodies to see to, but
that their harts wont to be bound all ouer so close, were nowe with
deadly violence opened: in others, fowler deaths had ouglily displayed
their trayling guttes. There lay armes, whose fingers yet mooued, as if
they woulde feele for him that made them feele: and legges, which
contrarie to common nature, by being discharged of their burthen, were
growne heauier. But no sworde payed so large a tribute of soules to the
eternall Kingdome, as that of Amphialus, who like a Tigre, from
whome a
companie of Woolues did seeke to rauish a newe gotten pray; so he
(remembring they came to take away Philoclea) did labour to
make
valure, strength, hatred, and choller to answere the proportion of his
loue, which was infinit.
There died of his handes the
olde
knight Æschylus, who though by yeares might well haue
beene allowed to
use rather the exercise of wisedome, then of courage; yet hauing a
lustie bodie & a merrie hart, he euer tooke the summons of Time in
iest, or else it had so creepingly stollen vpon him, that he had heard
scarcely the noise of his feete, and therefore was as fresh in
apparell, and as forwarde in enterprises, as a farre yonger man: but
nothing made him bolder, then a certaine prophecie had beene tolde him,
that he shoulde die in the armes of his sonne, and
therefore feared the lesse the anne of an enemie. But nowe, when Amphialus
sworde was passed through his throate, he thought
himselfe
abused; but that before he died, his sonne, indeede, seeing his father
beginne to fall, helde him vp in his armes, till a pitilesse souldier
of the other side, with a mace brained him, making father and sonne
become twinnes in their neuer againe dying birth. As for Drialus,
Memnon, Nisus and Policrates; the first had
his eyes cut out so, as he
could not see to bid the neare following death welcome: the seconde had
met with the same Prophet that olde Æschylus had, and
hauing founde
manie of his speeches true, beleeued this to, that he should neuer be
killed, but by his owne companions: and therefore no man was more
valiant then he against an enemie, no man more suspicious of his
friends: so as he seemed to sleepe in securitie, when he went to a
battell, and to enter into a battaile, when he began to sleepe, such
guards he would set about his person; yet mistrusting the verie
guardes, that they would murther him. But nowe Amphialus helped
to
unriddle his doubts; for he ouerthrowing him from his horse, his owne
companions comming with a fresh supplie, pressed him to death. Nisus
grasping with Amphialus, was with a short dagger
slaine. And for Policrates, while he shunned as much as he
could, keeping onely his
place for feare of punishment, Amphialus with a memorable blowe
strake
of his head, where, with the conuulsions of death setting his spurres
to his horse, he gaue so braue a charge vpon the enemie, as it grewe a
prouerbe, that Policrates was onely valiant, after his head
was off.
But no man escaped so well his handes as Phebilus did: for he
hauing
long loued Philoclea, though for the meannesse of his estate he
neuer
durst reueale it, nowe knowing Amphialus, setting the edge of a
riuall vpon the sworde of an enemie, he helde strong fight with him.
But Amphialus had alreadie in the daungerousest places disarmed
him, and
was lifting vp his sworde to sende him away from him, when he thinking
indeede to die, O Philoclea (said he) yet this ioyes me, that I
die for
thy sake. The name of Philoclea first staied his sworde, and
when he
heard him out, though he abhorde him much worse then before, yet could
he not vouchsafe him the honour of dying for Philoclea, but
turned his
sword another way, doing him no hurt for ouer-much hatred. But what
good did that to poore Phebilus, if
escaping a valiant hand, he was slaine by a base souldiour, who seeing
him so disarmed, thrust him through?
CHAP.
8.
The Basilians reembattelled
1 first by Philanax, 2 then by the
blacke
Knight. 3 Ismenus slaine by Philanax. Phila-
nax captiued by Amphialus.
4 The blacke Knights ex-
ploits. 5 His encounter with Amphialus,
parted
by a
by-blow. 6 The Amphialians retrait,
and departure of
the blacke
Knight.
Hus with the well-followed valure of Amphialus
were the other
almost
ouerthrowne, when Philanax
(who was the marshal of the army)
came in, with newe force renuing the almost decayed courage of his
souldiers. For, crying to them (and asking them whether their backes or
their armes were better fighters) he himselfe thrust into the presse,
and making force and furie waite vppon discretion and gouernement, he
might seeme a braue Lion, who taught his yong Lionets, how in taking of
a pray, to ioine courage with cunning. The[n] Fortune (as if she had
made
chases inow of the one side of that blooddy Teniscourt) went of the
other side the line, making as many fall downe of Amphialus
followers,
as before had done of Philanax his; they loosing the ground, as
fast as
before they had woon it, only leauing them to keepe it, who had lost
themselues in keeping it. Then those that had killed, inherited the lot
of those that had bene killed; and cruel Death made the[m] lie quietly
togither, who most in their liues had sought to disquiet ech other; and
many of those first ouerthrowne, had the comfort to see the murtherers
ouerrun them to Charons ferrie.
Codrus, Ctesiphon,
and Milot lost
their liues vpon Philanax-his sword: but no bodies case was
more
pitied, then of a yong esquire of Amphialus, called Ismenus,
who neuer
abandoning his maister, and making his tender age aspire to actes of
the strongest manhoode, in this time that his side was put to the
worst, and that Amphialus-his valure was the onely stay of them
from
deliuering themselues ouer to a shamefull flight, he sawe
his masters horse killed vnder him. Whereupon, asking no aduise of
no thought, but of faithfulnes and courage, he presently lighted from
his owne horse, and with the helpe of some choise and faithfull
seruants, gat his master vp. But in the multitude that came of either
side, some to succour, some to saue Amphialus, he came vnder
the hande
of Philanax: and the youth perceyuing he was the man that did
most hurt
to his partie, (desirous eue[n] to change his life for glorie) strake
at
him, as he rode by him, and gaue him a hurt vpon the leg, that made Philanax
turn towards him; but seing him so yo[n]g, & of
a most louely
presence, he rather toke pity of him; meaning to make him prisoner,
& the[n] to giue him to his brother Agenor to be his
companion,
because they were not much vnlike, neither in yeeres, nor countenance.
But as he loked down vpon him with that thought, he spied wher his
brother lay dead, & his friend Leontius by him, eue[n]
almost vnder
the squiers feet. The[n] soroing not only his owne sorow, but the
past-co[m]fort sorow, which he fore-knew his mother would take, (who
with
many teares, & misgiuing sighs had suffred him to go with his elder
brother Philanax) blotted out all figures of pitie out of his
minde,
and putting foorth his horse (while Ismenus doubled two or
three more
valiant, then well set blowes) saying to himselfe, Let other mothers
bewaile an vntimely death as well as mine; he thrust him through. And
the boy fearce though beautiful; & beautifull, though dying, not
able to keepe his failing feete, fel downe to the earth, which he bit
for anger, repining at his Fortune, and as long as he could resisting
Death, which might seeme vnwilling to; so long he was in taking away
his yong struggling soule.
Philanax himselfe could
haue wished the blow vngiuen, when he saw him
fall like a faire apple, which some vncourteous bodie (breaking his
bowe) should throwe downe before it were ripe. But the case of his
brother made him forget both that, and himselfe: so as ouerhastily
pressing vppon the retiring enemies, he was (ere he was aware) further
engaged then his owne souldiers could relieue him; were being
ouerthrowne by Amphialus, Amphialus glad of him, kept
head aginst his
enemies while some of his men caried away Philanax.
But Philanax-his men as if with the losse of
Philanax
they; had lost
the fountaine of their valure,
had their courages
so dried
vp in feare; that they began to set honour at their backes, and
to vse the vertue of pacience in an vntimely time: when into the
presse comes (as hard as his horse, more afraied of the spurre, then
the sword could carie him) a Knight in armor as darke as blacknes
coulde make it, followed by none, and adorned by nothing; so far
without authoritie that he was without knowledge. But vertue quickly
made him knowne, and admiration bred him such authoritie, that though
they of whose side he came knew him not, yet they all knew it was fitte
to obey him: and while he was followed by the valiantest, he made way
for the vilest. For, taking part with the besiegers, he made the Amphialians
bloud serue for a caparison to his horse, and a decking to
his armour. His arme no oftner gaue blowes, then the blowes gaue
wounds, then the wounds gaue deathes: so terrible was his force, and
yet was his quicknes more forcible then his force, and his iudgement
more quick then his quicknes. For though the sword went faster then
eyesight could follow it, yet his owne iudgement went still before it.
There died of his hand, Sarpedon, Plistonax, Strophilus, and Hippolitus,
men of great proofe in warres, and who had that day
undertaken the guard of Amphialus. But while they sought to
saue him,
they lost the fortresses that Nature had placed them in. The[n] slew he
Megalus, who was a little before proude, to see himselfe
stained in the
bloud of his enemies: but when his owne bloud came to be married to
theirs, he then felt, that
Crueltie dooth neuer enioy a
good cheape glorie. After him sent he Palemon, who had that
daye vowed (with foolish brauerie) to be the
death of tenne: and nine already he had killed, and was carefull to
performe his (almost performed) vowe, when the Blacke Knight helpt him
to make vp the tenth himselfe.
And now the often-changing
Fortune began also to chaunge the hewe of the battailes. For at the
first, though it were terrible, yet Terror was deckt so brauelie with
rich furniture, guilte swords, shining armours, pleasant pensils, that
the eye with delight had scarce leasure to be afraide: But now all
uniuersally defiled with dust, bloud, broken armours, mangled bodies,
tooke away the maske, and sette foorth Horror in his owne horrible
manner. But neither could danger be dreadfull to Amphialus-his
undismayable courage, nor yet seeme ougly to him, whose truely-affected
minde, did still paint it ouer with the beautie of Philoclea.
And therefore he, rather enflamed then
troubled with the encrease of dangers, and glad to finde a woorthie
subiect to exercise his courage, sought out this newe Knight, whom he
might easilie finde: for he, like a wanton rich man, that throwes down
his neighbours houses, to make himselfe the better prospecte, so had
his sworde made him so spatious a roome, that Amphialus had
more cause
to wonder at the finding, then labour for the seeking: which, if it
stirred hate in him, to see how much harme he did to the one side, it
prouoked as much æmulation in him, to perceaue how much good he
did to
the other side. Therefore, they approaching one to the other, as in two
beautifull folkes, Loue naturally stirres a desire of ioyning, so in
their two courages Hate stirred a desire of triall. Then began there a
combatte betweene them, worthy to haue had more large listes, and more
quiet beholders: for with the spurre of Courage, and the bitte of
Respect, each so guided himselfe, that one might well see, the desire
to ouercome, made them not forget how to ouercome: in such time &
proportion they did employ their blowes, that none of Ceres seruaunts
coulde more cunningly place his flaile: while the lefte foote spurre
set forwarde his owne horse, the right sette backward the contrarie
horse, euen sometimes by the advauntage of the enemies legge, while the
lefte hande (like him that helde the Sterne) guyded the horses obedient
courage: All done in such order, that it might seeme, the minde was a
right Prince indeede, who sent wise and diligent Lieutenants into each
of those well gouerned partes. But the more they fought, the more they
desired to fight; and the more they smarted, the lesse they felte the
smarte: and now were like to make a quicke proofe, to whom Fortune or
Valour woulde seeme most friendly, when in comes an olde Gouernour of Amphialus;
alwayes a good Knight, and carefull of his
charge; who
giuing a sore wounde to the blacke Knights thigh, while he thought not
of him, with an other blowe slewe his horse vnder him. Amphialus
cried
to him, that he dishonoured him: You say well (answered the olde
Knight) to stande now like a priuate souldier, setting your credite
vpon particular fighting, while you may see Basilius with all
his
hoste, is getting betweene you and your towne.
He looked
that way, and found that true indeede, that the enemie was
beginning to encompasse him about, and stoppe his returne: and
therefore causing the retreite to be sounded, his
Gouernour ledde his men homewarde, while he kepte him selfe still
hindmoste, as if hee had stoode at the gate of a sluse, to lette the
streame goe, with such proportion, as shoulde seeme good vnto him: and
with so manfull discretion perfourmed it, that (though with losse of
many of his men) he returned in him selfe safe, and content, that his
enemies had felte, how sharpe the sworde coulde bite of Philocleas
Louer. The other partie being sorie for the losse of Philanax,
was yet
sorrier when the blacke Knight could not be found. For he hauing gotten
on a horse, whom his dying master had bequeathed to the world, finding
himselfe sore hurt, and not desirous to be knowen, had in the time of
the enemies retiring, retired away also: his thigh not bleeding bloud
so fast, as his harte bledde reuenge. But Basilius hauing
attempted in
vaine to barre the safe returne of Amphialus, encamped himselfe
as
strongly as he could, while he (to his grief) might heare the ioy was
made in the towne by his owne subiectes, that he had that day sped no
better. For Amphialus (being well beloued of that people) when
they
sawe him not vanquished, they esteemed him as victorious, his youth
setting a flourishing shew vpon his worthinesse, and his great
nobilitie ennobling his dangers.
CHAP.
9.
1 The Loue-diuining dreame
of Amphialus song to Philo-
clea. 2 Philanax his captiuitie,
and deaths-doome, 3 for
Philocleas sake turnde to life and libertie. 4 His
loyall ans-
were of his Lords intents. 5 Cecropias artes to perswade
the sisters.
Vt the first thing Amphialus
did, being returned, was to visite Philoclea, and first
presuming to cause his dreame to be song vnto her
(which he had seen the night before he fell in loue with her) making a
fine boy he had, accorde a prettie dolefulnes vnto
it. The song was this.
NOw was our heauenly vaulte depriued of
the light
With Sunnes depart: and now
the darkenes of the night
Did light those beamye stars which greater light did darke:
Now each thing that enioy'd that firie quickning sparke
(Which life is cald) were mou'd their spirits to repose,
And wanting vse of eyes their eyes began to close:
A silence sweet each where with one consent embraste
(A musique sweet to one in carefull musing plaste)
And mother Earth, now clad in mourning weeds, did breath
A dull desire to kisse the image of our death:
When I, disgraced wretch, not wretched then, did giue
My senses such reliefe, as they which quiet liue,
Whose braines broile not in woes, nor brests with beatings ake,
With natures praise are wont in safest home to take.
Far from my thoughts was ought, whereto their minds aspire,
Who vnder courtly pompes doo hatch a base desire.
Free all my powers were from those captiuing snares,
Which heau'nly purest gifts defile in muddy cares.
Ne could my soule it selfe accuse of such a faulte,
As tender conscience might with furious panges assaulte.
But like the feeble flower (whose stalke cannot sustaine
His weighty top) his top doth downeward drooping leane:
Or as the silly birde in well acquainted nest
Doth hide his head with cares but onely how to rest:
So I in simple course, and vnentangled minde
Did suffer drousie lids mine eyes then chare to blinde;
And laying downe my head, did natures rule obserue,
Which senses vp doth shut the senses to preserue.
They first their vse forgot, then fancies lost their force;
Till deadly sleepe at length possest my liuing coarse.
A liuing coarse I lay: but ah, my wakefull minde
(Which made of heau'nly stuffe no mortal chauge doth blind)
Flew vp with freer wings of fleshly bondage free;
And hauing plaste my thoughts, my thoughts thus placed me.
Me thought, nay sure I was, I was in fairest wood
Of Samothea lande; a lande, which whilom stood
An honour to the world, while Honour was their ende,
And while their line of yeares they did in vertue spende.
But there I was, and there my calmie thoughts I fedd
On Natures sweet repast, as healthfull senses ledd.
Her giftes my study was, her beauties were my sporte:
My worke her workes to know, her dwelling my resorte.
Those lampes of heau'nly fire to fixed motion bound,
The euer-turning spheares, the neuer-mouing ground;
What essence destinie hath; if fortune be or no;
Whence our immortall soules to mortall earth doo flowe:
What life it is, and how that all these liues doo gather.
With outward makers force, or like an inward father.
Such thoughts, me thought, I thought, and straind my single mind
Then void of neerer cares, the depth of things to find.
When lo with hugest noise (such noise a tower makes
When it blowne downe with winde a fall of ruine takes)
(Or such a noise it was, as highest thunders sende,
Or canons thunder-like, all shot togither, lende)
The Moone a sunder rent; whereout with sodaine fall
(More swift then falcons stoops to feeding Falconers call)
There came a chariot faire by doues and sparrowes guided:
Whose stormelike course staid not till hard by me it bided.
I wretch astonisht was, and thought the deathfull doome
Of heauen, of earth, of hell, of time and place was come.
But streight there issued forth two Ladies (Ladies sure
They seemd to me) on whom did waite a Virgin pure:
Straunge were the Ladies weeds; yet more vnfit then strange.
The first with cloth's tuckt vp as Nymphes in woods do range;
Tuckt vp euen with the knees, with bowe and arrowes prest:
Her right arme naked was, discouered was her brest.
But heauy was her pace, and such a meagre cheere,
As little hunting minde (God knowes) did there appeere.
The other had with arte (more then our women knowe,
As stuffe meant for the sale set out to glaring showe)
A wanton womans face, and with curld knots had twinde
Her haire, which by the helpe of painters cunning, shinde.
When I such guests did see come out of such a house,
The mountaines great with childe I thought brought foorth a mouse.
But walking forth, the first thus to the second saide,
Venus come on: said she, Diane you are obaide.
Those names abasht me much, whe[n] those great names I
hard:
Although their fame (me seemd) from truth had greatly iard.
As I thus musing stood, Diana cald to her
The waiting Nymphe, a Nyrnphe that did excell as farr
All things that earst I sawe, as orient pearles exceed,
That which their mother hight, or els their silly seed.
Indeed a perfect hewe, indeed a sweet consent
Of all those Graces giftes the heauens haue euer lent.
And so she was attirde, as one that did not prize
Too much her peerles parts, nor yet could them despise.
But cald, she came apace; a pace wherein did moue
The bande of beauties all, the little world of Loue.
And bending bumbled eyes (ô eyes the Sunne of sight)
She waited mistresse will: who thus disclosd her spright.
Sweet Mira mine (quoth she) the pleasure of my minde,
In whom of all my rules the perfect proofe I finde,
To onely thee thou seest we graunt this speciall grace
Vs to attend, in this most priuate time and place,
Be silent therefore now, and so be silent still
Of that thou seest: close vp in secrete knot thy will.
She answered was with looke, and well perform'd behest:
And Mira admirde: her shape sonke in my brest.
But thus with irefull eyes, and face that shooke with spite
Diana did begin. What mou'd me to inuite
Your presence (sister deare) first to my Moony spheare,
And hither now, vouchsafe to take with willing eare.
I know full well you know, what discord long hath raign'd
Betwixt vs two; how much that discord foule hath stain'd
Both our estates, while each the other did depraue,
Proofe speakes too much to vs that feeling triall haue.
Our names are quite forgot, our temples are defaced:
Our offrings spoil'd, our priest from priesthood are displaced
Is this the fruite of strife? those thousand churches hie,
Those thousand altars faire now in the dust to lie?
In mortall mindes our mindes but planets names preserue:
No knees once bowed, forsooth, for them they say we serue.
Are we their seruants growne? no doubt a noble staye:
Celestiall powers to wormes, Ioues children serue to claye.
But such they say we be: this praise our discord bred,
While we for mutuall spight a striuing passion fed.
But let vs wiser be; and what foule discorde brake,
So much more strong againe let fastest concorde make.
Our yeares doo it require: you see we both doo feele
The weakning worke of Times for euer-whirling wheele.
Although we be diuine, our grandsire Saturne is
With ages force decayed, yet once the heauen was his.
And now before we seeke by wise Apollos skill
Our young yeares to renew (for so he saith he will)
Let vs a perfect peace betweene vs two resolue:
Which lest the ruinous want of gouernment dissolue;
Let one the Princesse be, to her the other yeeld:
For vaine equalitie is but contentions field.
And let her haue the giftes that should in both remaine:
In her let beautie both, and chastnesse fully raigne.
So as if I preuaile, you giue your giftes to me:
If you, on you I lay what in my office be.
Now resteth onely this, which of vs two is she,
"To whom precedence shall of both accorded be.
For that (so that you like) hereby doth lie a youth
(She beckned vnto me) as yet of spotlesse truth,
Who may this doubt discerne: for better, witt, then lot
Becommeth vs: in vs fortune determines not.
This crowne of amber faire (an amber crowne she held)
To worthiest let him giue, when both he hath beheld:
And be it as he saith. Venus was glad to heare
Such proffer made, which she well showd with smiling cheere.
As though she were the same, as when by Paris doome
She had chiefe Goddesses in beautie ouercome.
And smirkly thus gan say. I neuer sought debate
Diana deare; my minde to loue and not to hate
Was euer apt: but you my pastimes did despise.
I neuer spited you, but thought you ouerwise.
Now kindnesse profred is, none kinder is then I:
And so most ready am this meane of peace to trie.
And let him be our iudge: the lad doth please me well.
Thus both did come to me, and both began to tell
(For both togither spake, each loth to be behinde)
That they by solemne oth their Deities would binde
To stand vnto my will: their will they made me know.
I that was first agast, when first I saw their showe:
Now bolder waxt, waxt prowde, that I such sway must beare:
For neere acquaintance dooth diminish reuerent feare.
And hauing bound them fast by Styx, they should obaye
To all what I decreed, did thus my verdict saye.
How ill both you can rule, well hath your discord taught:
Ne yet for ought I see, your beauties merite ought.
To yonder Nymphe therefore (to Mira I did point)
The crowne aboue you both for euer I appoint.
I would haue spoken out: but out they both did crie;
Fie, fie, what haue we done? vngodly rebell fie.
But now we needs must yeelde, to that our othes require.
Yet thou shalt not go free (quoth Venus) such a fire
Her beautie kindle shall within thy foolish minde,
That thou full oft shalt wish thy iudging eyes were blinde.
Nay then (Diana said) the chastnesse I will giue
In ashes of despaire (though burnt) shall make thee liue.
Nay thou (said both) shalt see such beames shine in her face
That thou shalt neuer dare seeke helpe of wretched case.
And with that cursed curse away to heauen they fled,
First hauing all their giftes vpon faire Mira spred.
The rest I cannot tell, for therewithall I wak'd
And found with deadly feare that all my sinewes shak'd.
Was it a dreame? O dreame, how hast thou wrought in me,
That I things erst vnseene should first in dreaming see?
And thou ô traytour Sleepe, made for to be our rest,
How hast thou framde the paine wherewith I am opprest?
O cowarde Cupid thus doost thou thy honour keepe,
Vnarmde (alas) vnwares to take a man asleepe?
Laying not onely the conquests, but the hart of the
co[n]querour at her
feet. *** But she receiuing him after her woonted sorrowfull (but
otherwise vnmoued) maner, it made him thinke, his good successe was but
a pleasant monument of a dolefull buriall: Ioy it selfe seeming bitter
vnto him, since it agreed not to her taste.
Therefore, still crauing his
mothers helpe to persuade her, he
himself sent for Philanax vnto him, whom he had not onely long
hated,
but nowe had his hate greatly encreased by the death of his Squire Ismenus.
Besides he had made him as one of the chiefe causes that
mooued him to this rebellion, and therefore was enclined (to colour the
better his action, and the more to embrewe the handes of his
accomplices by making them guiltie of such a trespasse) in some formall
sort to cause him to be executed: being also greatly egged thereunto by
his mother, and some other, who long had hated Philanax, onely
because
he was more worthy to be loued then they.
But while that deliberation was
handeled, according rather to the humour then the reason of ech
speaker, Philoclea comming to knowledge of the hard plight
wherein Philanax stood, she desired one
of the gentlewomen appoynted to waite vpon her, to goe in her name, and
beseech Amphialus, that if the loue of her had any power of
perswasion
in his minde, he would lay no further punishment, then imprisonment,
vppon Philanax. This message was deliuered euen as Philanax
was entring
to the presence of Amphialus, comming (according to the warning
was
giuen him) to receyve a iudgement of death. But when he with manfull
resolution attended the fruite of such a tyrannicall sentence, thinking
it wrong, but no harme to him that shoulde die in so good a cause; Amphialus
turned quite the fourme of his pretended speech,
and yeelded
him humble thankes, that by his meanes he had come to that happinesse,
as to receiue a commaundement of his Ladie: and therefore he willingly
gaue him libertie to returne in safetye whither he would; quitting him,
not onely of all former grudge, but assuring him that he would be
willing to do him any friendship, and seruice: onely desiring thus much
of him, that he would let him know the discourse and intent of Basilius-his
proceeding.
Truely my Lorde (answered Philanax) if there
were any such knowne to me, secrete in my
maisters
counsaile, as that the reuealing thereof might hinder his good
successe, I shoulde loath the keeping of my blood, with the losse of my
faith; and woulde thinke the iust name of a traitour a harde purchase
of a fewe yeares liuing. But since it is so, that my maister hath
indeede no way of priuie practise, but meanes openly and forcibly to
deale against you, I will not sticke in fewe wordes to make your
required declaration. Then tolde he him in what amaze of amazement,
both Basilius and Gynecia were, when they mist their
children and Zelmane. Sometimes apt to suspect some practise of
Zelmane,
because she
was a straunger; sometimes doubting some reliques of the late mutinie,
which doubt was rather encreased, then any way satisfied, by Miso:
who
(being founde, almost deade for hunger, by certaine Countrey-people)
brought home worde, with what cunning they were trayned out, and with
what violence they were caried away. But that within a fewe dayes they
came to knowledge where they were, with Amphialus-his, owne
letters
sent abroade to procure confederates in his attemptes. That Basilius
his purpose was neuer to leaue the siege of this towne, till
he had taken it, and reuenged the iniurie done vnto him. That he meant
rather to winne it by time, and famine, then by force of assault:
knowing howe valiaunt men he had to deale withall in the towne: that he
had sent order, that supplyes of souldiours, pioners, and all things
else necessarie, shoulde dayly be brought vnto him: so as, my Lorde
(sayde Philanax) let me nowe, hauing receyved my life by your
grace,
let me giue you your life and honour by my counsaile; protesting vnto
you, that I cannot choose but loue you, being my maister-his nephewe;
and that I wish you well in all causes: but this, you knowe his nature
is as apte to forgiue, as his power is able to conquere. Your fault
passed is excusable, in that Loue perswaded, and youth was perswaded.
Do not vrge the effects of angrie victorie, but rather seeke to obtaine
that constantly by courtesie, which you can neuer assuredly enioy by
violence. One might easily haue seene in the cheare of Amphialus,
that
disdainfull choller woulde faine haue made the aunswere for him, but
the remembraunce of Philoclea serued for forcib[l]e barriers
betweene
Anger, and angry effects: so as he saide no more, but that he woulde
not put him to the trouble to giue him any further counsaile: But that
he might returne, if he listed, presently. Philanax glad to
receyve an
uncorrupted libertie, humbly accepted his fauourable conuoy out of the
towne; and so departed, not hauing visited the Princesses, thinking it
might be offensiue to Amphialus, and no way fruitfull to them,
who
were no way but by force to be relieued.
The poore Ladies indeede, not suffered either to
meet together, or to
haue co[n]ference with any
other, but such as Cecropia
had alreadie framed
to sing all her songs to her tune, she herselfe omitting no day, and
catching holde of euerie occasion to mooue forwarde her sonnes desire,
and remoue their knowne resolutions: vsing the same arguments to the
one sister, as to the other; determining that whome she coulde winne
first, the other shoulde (without her sonnes knowledge) by poyson be
made away. But though the reasons were the same to both, yet the
handeling was diuerse, according as she sawe their humours to preferre
a more or lesse aptnesse of apprehension: this day hauing vsed long
speech to Philoclea, amplifying not a little the great
duetifulnesse
her sonne had shewed in deliuering Philanax: of whome she
coulde get no aunswere, but a silence sealed vp
in vertue, and so sweetly graced, as that in one instant it caried with
it both resistance, and humblenesse.
CHAP.
10.
1 Pamelas exercise.
Cecropias talke with her 2 of Beautie
3 and the vse
thereof. 4 The Auntes Atheisme 5 refu-
ted by the Neeces Diuinitie.
Ecropia threatning in her selfe
to runne a more ragged race with her, went to
her
sister Pamela: who
that day hauing wearied her selfe with reading,
and with the height of her hart disdaining to keepe companie with any
of the Gentlewomen appointed to attende her, whome she accounted her
iaylours, was woorking vppon a purse certaine Roses and Lillies, as by
the finenesse of the worke, one might see she had borowed her wittes of
the sorow that owed them, & lent them wholy to that exercise. For
the flowers she had wrought, caried such life in them, that the
cuningest painter might haue learned of her needle: which with so prety
a maner made his careers to & fro[m] through the cloth, as if the
needle it selfe would haue bene loth to haue gone froward such a
mistres, but that it hoped to return the[n]ceward very quickly againe:
the
cloth loking with many eies vpon her, & louingly embracing the
wounds she gaue it: the sheares also were at hand to behead the silke,
that was growne to short. And if at any time she put her mouth to bite
it off, it seemed, that where she had beene long in making of a Rose
with her hand, she would in an instant make Roses with her lips; as the
Lillies seemed to haue their whitenesse, rather of the hande that made
them, then of the matter whereof they were made; and that they grew
there by the Sunes of her eyes, & were refreshed by the most in
discomfort comfortable ayre, which an vnwares sigh might bestow vpon
them. But the colours for the grounde were so well chosen, neither
sullenly darke, nor glaringly lightsome, and so well proportioned, as
that, though much cunning were in it, yet it was but to serue for an
ornament of the principall woorke; that it was not without marvaile to
see, howe a minde which could cast a carelesse semblant vppon the
greatest conflictes of Fortune, coulde commaunde it
selfe to take care for so small matters. Neither had she neglected the
daintie dressing of her selfe: but as it had ben her mariage time to
Affliction, she rather semed to remember her owne worthinesse, then the
unworthinesse of her husband. For well one might perceyve she had not
reiected the counsaile of a glasse, and that her handes had pleased
themselves, in paying the tribute of vndeceyuing skill, to so high
perfections of Nature.
The sight whereof so diuerse from her sister, (who
rather suffered
sorrow to distresse it selfe in her beautie, then that she would bestow
any intertainment of so vnwelcome a guest) made Cecropia take
a
suddaine assurednesse of hope, that she should obtaine somewhat of Pamela:
thinking (according to the squaring out of her own
good nature)
that beauty, carefully set forth, wold soone proue a signe of an
unrefusing harborough. Animated wherewith, she sate downe by Pamela:
and taking the purse, and with affected curiositie looking vpon the
worke, Full happie is he (saide she) at least if he knew his owne
happinesse, to whom a purse in this maner, and by this hand wrought, is
dedicated. In faith he shall haue cause to account it, not as a purse
for treasure, but as a treasure it selfe, worthie to be pursed vp in
the purse of his owne hart. And thinke you so indeed (said Pamela
halfe
smiling) I promise you I wrought it, but to make some tedious houres
beleeue, that I thought not of them: for else I valued it, but euen as
a verie purse. It is the right nature (saide Cecropia) of
Beautie, to
woorke vnwitting effectes of wonder. Truely (saide Pamela) I
neuer
thought till nowe, that this outward glasse, intitled Beautie, which it
pleaseth you to lay to my (as I thinke) vnguiltie charge, was but a
pleasaunt mixture of naturall colours, delightfull to the eye, as
musicke is to the eare, without any further consequence: since it is a
thing, which not onely beastes haue; but euen stones and trees many of
them doo greatly excell in it. That other thinges (answered Cecropia)
haue some portion of it, takes not away the excellencie of it, where
indeede it doth excell: since we see, that euen those beastes, trees,
& stones, are in the name of Beauty only highly praised. But that
the beautie of humaine persons be beyond all other things there is
great likelihood of reason, since to them onely is giuen the iudgement
to discerne Beautie; and among reasonable wights, as it seemes, that
our sex hath the preheminence, so that in that preheminence, Nature
counter-vailes all
other liberalities, wherin she may be thought to haue dealte more
fauourably towarde mankind. How doo men crowne (thinke you) themselues
with glorie, for hauing either by force brought others to yeeld to
their minde, or with long studie, and premeditated orations, perswaded
what they woulde haue perswaded? and see, a faire woman shall not
onely commaund without authentic, but perswade without speaking. She
shall not neede to procure attention, for their owne eyes will chaine
their eares vnto it. Men venture liues to conquere; she conqueres liues
without venturing. She is serued, and obeyed, which is the most
notable, not because the lawes so commaund it, but because they become
lawes to the[m]selues to obey her; not for her parents sake, but for
her
owne sake. She neede not dispute, whether to gouerne by Feare, or by
Loue, since without her thinking thereof, their loue will bring foorth
feare, and their feare will fortifie their loue: and she neede not
seeke offensiue, or defensiue force, since her lippes may stande for
ten thousand shieldes, and tenne thousand vneuitable shot goe from her
eyes. Beautie, Beautie (deare Neece) is the crowne of the feminine
greatnes; which gifte, on whom soeuer the heauens (therein most
nigardly) do bestowe, without question, she is bound to vse it to the
noble purpose, for which it is created: not onely winning, but
preseruing; since that indeede is the right happines, which is not
onely in it selfe happie, but can also deriue the happines to another.
Certainly Aunt (said Pamela) I feare me you will make me not
onely
thinke my selfe fairer then euer I did, but think my fairnes a matter
of greater valew then heretofore I coulde imagine it. For I euer (till
now) conceaued these conquests you spake of, rather to proceed from the
weakenes of the conquered, then from the strength of the co[n]quering
power: as they say, the Cranes ouerthrowe whole battailes of Pygmees,
not so much of their Cranish courage, as because the other are Pygmees:
and that we see, young babes think babies of woonderful excellencie,
and yet the babies are but babies. But since your elder yeares, and
abler iudgement, finde Beautie to be worthy of so incomparable
estimation, certainly me thinks, it ought to be held in dearnes,
according to the excellencie, and (no more then we would do of things
which we accou[n]t pretious) euer to suffer it to be defiled.
Defiled? (said Cecropia)
Mary God forbid that my speech should tend
to any such purpose, as should deserue so foul a title. My meaning is
to ioyn your beauty to loue; your youth to delight. For truely, as
colours should be as good as nothing, if there were no eyes to behold
them: so is Beauty nothing, without the eye of Loue behold it: and
therfore, so far is it from defiling it, that it is the only honoring
of it, the only preseruing of it: for Beauty goes away, deuoured by
Time, but where remaines it euer flourishing, but in the hart of a true
louer? And such a one (if euer there were any) is my son: whose loue is
so subiected vnto you, that rather then breed any offence vnto you, it
will not delight it selfe in beholding you. Ther is no effect of his
loue (answered Pamela) better pleaseth me then that: but as I
haue ofte[n]
answered you, so, resolutely I say vnto you, that he must get my
parents consent, & then he shall know further of my mind; for,
without that, I know I should offend God. O sweet youth (said Cecropia)
how vntimely subiect it is to deuotion? No, no sweet neece, let vs old
folks think of such precise consideratio[n]s, do you enioy the heauen
of
your age, whereof you are sure: and like good hous-holders, which spend
those thinges that will not be kept, so do you pleasantly enioy that,
which else will bring an ouer-late repentance, whe[n] your glas shall
accuse you to your face, what a change there is in you. Do you see how
the spring-time is ful of flowers, decking it self with them, & not
aspiring to the fruits of Autumn? what lesson is that vnto you, but
that in the april of your age, you should be like April? Let
not some
of the, for whom alredy the graue gapeth, & perhaps enuy the
felicity in you, which the[m]selues cannot enioy, perswade you to lose
the
hold of occasio[n], while it may not only be taken, but offers, nay
sues
to be take[n]: which if it be not now taken, will neuer hereafter be
ouertaken. Your self know, how your father hath refused all offers made
by the greatest Princes about you, & wil you suffer your beauty to
be hid in the wrinckles of his peuish thoughts? If he be peuish (said Pamela)
yet is he my father, & how beautiful soeuer I
be, I am his
daughter: so as God claimes at my hands obedience, and makes me no
iudge of his imperfections.
These
often replies vpon conscience in Pamela, made Cecropia thinke,
that there was no righter
waye for her, then as she
had (in her opinion) set her in liking of Beautie, with perswasion not
to suffer it to be voide of purpose, so if she coulde make her lesse
feeling of those heauenly conceipts, that then she might easilie winde
her to her croked bias. Therefore, employing the vttermost of her
mischieuous witte, and speaking the more earnestly, because she spake
as she thought, she thus dealt with her. Deare neece, or rather, deare
daughter (if my affection and wishe might preuaile therein) how much
dooth it increase (trowe you) the earnest desire I haue of this blessed
match, to see these vertues of yours knit fast with such zeale of
Deuotion, indeede the best bonde, which the most politicke wittes haue
found, to holde mans witte in well doing? For, as children must first
by feare be induced to know that, which after (when they doo know) they
are most glad of: So are these bug-beares of opinions brought by great
Clearkes into the world, to serue as shewelles to keepe them from those
faults, whereto els the vanitie of the worlde, and weakenes of senses
might pull them. But in you (Neece) whose excellencie is such, as it
neede not to be helde vp by the staffe of vulgar opinions, I would not
you should loue Vertue seruillie, for feare of I know not what, which
you see not: but euen for the good effects of vertue which you see.
Feare, and indeede, foolish feare, and fearefull ignorance, was the
first inuenter of those conceates. For, when they heard it thunder, not
knowing the naturall cause, they thought there was some angrie body
aboue, that spake so lowde: and euer the lesse they did perceiue, the
more they did conceiue. Whereof they knew no cause that grewe streight
a miracle: foolish folks, not marking that the alterations be but vpon
particular accidents, the vniuersalitie being alwaies one. Yesterday
was but as to day, and to morrow will tread the same footsteps of his
foregoers: so as it is manifest inough, that all things follow but the
course of their own nature, sauing only Man, who while by the
pregnancie of his imagination he striues to things supernaturall,
meane-while he looseth his owne naturall felicitie. Be wise, and that
wisedome shalbe a God vnto thee; be contented, and that is thy heauen:
for els to thinke that those powers (if there be any such) aboue, are
moued either by the eloquence of our prayers, or in a chafe by the
folly of our actions;
caries asmuch reason as if flies should thinke, that men take
great care which of them hums sweetest, and which of them flies
nimblest.
She would haue
spoken further to haue enlarged & co[n]firmed her
discourse: but Pamela
(whose cheeks were died in the beautifullest
graine of vertuous anger, with eies which glistered forth beames of
disdaine) thus interrupted her. Peace (wicked woman) peace, vnworthy to
breathe, that doest not acknowledge the breath-giuer; most vnworthy to
haue a tongue, which speakest against him, through whom thou speakest:
keepe your affection to your self, which like a bemired dog, would
defile with fauning. You say yesterday was as to day. O foolish woman,
and most miserably foolish, since wit makes you foolish. What dooth
that argue, but that there is a constancie in the euerlasting
gouernour? Would you haue an inconstant God, since we count a man
foolish that is inconstant? He is not seene you say, and would you
thinke him a God, who might be seene by so wicked eyes, as yours? which
yet might see enough if they were not like such, who for sport-sake
willingly hood-wincke themselues to receaue blowes the easier. But
though I speake to you without any hope of fruite in so rotten a harte,
and there be no bodie else here to iudge of my speeches, yet be thou my
witnesse, O captiuitie, that my cares shall not be willingly guiltie of
my Creators blasphemie. You saie, because we know not the causes of
things, therefore feare was the mother of superstition: nay, because we
know that each effect hath a cause, that hath engendred a true &
liuely deuotion. For this goodly worke of which we are, and in which we
liue, hath not his being by Chaunce; on which opinion it is beyond
mervaile by what chaunce any braine could stumble. For if it be
eternall (as you would seeme to conceiue of it) Eternity, & Chaunce
are things vnsufferable together. For that is chaunceable which
happeneth; & if it happen, there was a time before it hapned, when
it might not haue happened; or els it did not happen; and so of
chaunceable, not eternall, as now being, the[n] not being. And as
absurd
it is to thinke that if it had a beginning, his beginning was deriued
fro[m] Chaunce: for Chaunce could neuer make all thinges of nothing:
and
if there were substaunces before, which by chaunce shoulde meete to
make vp this worke, thereon followes another bottomlesse pitt of
absurdities. For then those substaunces must needes haue bene from
euer, and so eternall: and that eternall causes should bring forth
chaunceable effects, is as sensible, as that the Sunne should be the
author of darkenesse. Againe, if it were chaunceable, then was it not
necessarie; whereby you take away all consequents. But we see in all
thinges, in some respect or other, necessitie of consequence: therfore
in reason we must needs know that the causes were necessarie.
Lastly, Chaunce is variable, or els it is not to be called Chaunce:
but we see this worke is steady and permanent. If nothing but Chaunce
had glewed those pieces of this All, the heauie partes would haue gone
infinitely downewarde, the light infinitely vpwarde, and so neuer haue
mett to haue made vp this goodly bodie. For before there was a heauen,
or a earth, there was neyther a heauen to stay the height of the
rising, nor an earth, which (in respect of the round walles of heauen)
should become a centre. Lastly, perfect order, perfect beautie, perfect
constancie, if these be the children of Chaunce, or Fortune the
efficient of these, let Wisedome be counted the roote of wickednesse,
and eternitie the fruite of her inconstancie. But you will say it is
so by nature, as much as if you said it is so, because it is so: if you
meane of many natures conspiring together, as in a popular gouernement
to establish this fayre estate; as if the Elementishe and ethereall
partes should in their towne-house set downe the boundes of each ones
office; then consider what followes: that there must needes haue bene a
wisedome which made them concurre: for their natures beyng absolute
contrarie, in nature rather woulde haue sought each others ruine, then
haue serued as well consorted partes to such an vnexpressable harmonie.
For that contrary things should meete to make vp a perfectio[n] without
a
force and Wisedome aboue their powers, is absolutely impossible; vnles
you will flie to that hissed-out opinion of Chaunce againe. But you may
perhaps affirme, that one vniuersall Nature (which hath bene for euer)
is the knitting together of these many partes to such an excellent
vnitie. If you meane a Nature of wisdome, goodnes, & prouidence,
which knowes what it doth, then say you that, which I seeke of you, and
cannot conclude those blasphemies, with which you defiled your mouth,
& mine eares. But if you meane a Nature, as we speake of the fire,
which goeth vpward, it knowes not
why: and of the nature of the Sea which in ebbing and flowing seemes to
obserue so iust a daunce, and yet vnderstands no musicke, it is but
still the same absurditie subscribed with another title. For this
worde, one, being attributed to that which is All, is but one mingling
of many, and many ones; as in a lesse matter, when we say one kingdome
which conteines many citties; or one cittie which conteines many
persons, wherein the vnder ones (if there be not a superiour power and
wisedome) cannot by nature regarde to any preseruation but of
themselues: no more we see they doo, since the water willingly quenches
the fire, and drownes the earth; so farre are they from a conspired
unitie: but that a right heauenly Nature indeed, as it were vnnaturing
them, doth so bridle them.
Againe, it is as absurde in nature that from an
vnitie many contraries
should proceede still kept in an vnitie: as that from the number of
contrarieties an vnitie should arise. I say still, if you banish both a
singularitie, and pluralitie of iudgement from among them, then (if so
earthly a minde can lift it selfe vp so hie) doo but conceaue, how a
thing whereto you giue the highest, and most excellent kinde of being
(which is eternitie) can be of the base and vilest degree of being, and
next to a not-being; which is so to be, as not to enioy his owne being?
I will not here call all your senses to witnes, which can heare, nor
see nothing, which yeeldes not most euident euidence of the
vnspeakeablenesse of that Wisedome: each thing being directed to an
ende, and an ende of preseruation: so proper effects of iudgement, as
speaking, and laughing are of mankind.
But what madd furie can euer so enueagle any conceipte, as to see our
mortall and corruptible selues to haue a reason, and that this
vniuersalitie (whereof we are but the lest pieces) should be vtterly
deuoide thereof? as if one should saie, that ones foote might be wise,
and him selfe foolish. This hearde I once alledged against such a
godlesse minde as yours, who being driuen to acknowledge these beastly
absurdities, that our bodies should be better then the whole worlde, if
it had the knowledge, whereof the other were voide; he sought (not able
to answere directly) to shifte it of in this sorte: that if that reason
were true, then must it followe also, that the worlde must haue in it a
spirite, that could write and reade to, and be learned; since that was
in vs so commendable: wretched foole, not
considering that Bookes be but supplies of defects; and so are praysed,
because they helpe our want, and therefore cannot be incident to the
eternall intelligence, which needes no recording of opinions to
confirme his knowledge, no more then the Sunne wants waxe to be the
fewell of his glorious lightfulnesse. This worlde therefore cannot
otherwise consist but by a minde of Wisedome, whiche gouernes it, which
whether you wil allow to be the Creator thereof, as vndoubtedly he is,
or the soule and gouernour thereof, most certaine it is that whether he
gouerne all, or make all, his power is aboue either his creatures, or
his gouernement. And if his power be aboue all thinges, then
consequently it must needes be infinite, since there is nothing aboue
it to limit it. For beyond which there is nothing, must needes be
boundlesse, and infinite: if his power be infinite, then likewise must
his knowledge be infinite: for else there should be an infinite
proportion of power which he shoulde not know how to vse; the
vnsensiblenesse whereof I thinke euen you can conceaue: and if
infinite, then must nothing, no not the estate of flies (which you with
so vnsauerie skorne did iest at) be vnknowne vnto him. For if it were,
then there were his knowledge bounded, and so not infinite: if
knowledge and power be infinite, then must needs his goodnesse and
iustice march in the same rancke: for infinitenes of power, &
knowledge, without like measure of goodnesse, must necessarily bring
foorth destruction and ruine, and not ornament and preseruation. Since
then there is a God, and an all-knowing God, so as he sees into the
darkest of all naturall secretes, which is the harte of Man; and sees
therein the deepest dissembled thoughts, nay sees the thoughts before
they be thought: since he is iust to exercise his might, and mightie to
performe his iustice, assure thy selfe, most wicked woman (that hast so
plaguily a corrupted minde, as thou canst not keepe thy sickenesse to
thy selfe, but must most wickedly infect others) assure thy selfe, I
say, (for what I say dependes of euerlasting and vnremooueable causes)
that the time will come, when thou shalt knowe that power by feeling
it, when thou shalt see his wisedome in the manifesting thy ougly
shamelesnesse, and shalt onely perceiue him to haue bene a Creator in
thy destruction.
CHAP.
11.
1 Cecropia malcontent,
still practiseth. 2 The besiegers disci-
pline, and
attempts of the besieged. 3 Phalantus cha-
lengeth 4 by Letter Amphialus: 5 who
by Letter ac-
cepteth it. 6 Amphialus 7 and Phalantus
militar
ac-
coustrements. 8 Their fo-like combate,
9 but friendly
conclusion.
Hus she saide, thus she ended, with so
faire a maiestie of vnconquered vertue, that
captiuitie might seeme to haue
authoritie ouer
tyrannie: so fowly was the filthinesse of impietie discouered by the
shining of her vnstayned goodnes, so farre, as either Cecropia
saw
indeed, or else the guilty amazement of her selfe-accusing conscience,
made her eies vntrue iudges of their natural obiect, that there was a
light more then humaine, which gaue a lustre to her
perfections. But Cecropia, like a Batte (which though
it haue eyes to discerne that there is a Sunne, yet hath so euill eyes,
that it cannot delight in the Sunne) found a trueth, but could not loue
it. But as great persons are woont to make the wrong
they haue done, to be a cause to doo the more wrong, her knowledge rose
to no higher point, but to enuie a worthier, and her will was no
otherwise bent, but the more to hate, the more she founde her enemie
prouided against her. Yet all the while she spake (though
with eyes cast like a horse that woulde strike at the stirrop, and with
colour which blushed through yellownesse) she sate rather still then
quiet, and after her speech rather muttered, then replied; for the
warre of wickednesse in her selfe, brought forth disdainefull pride to
resist cunning dissimulation; so as, saying little more vnto her, but
that she shoulde haue leysure inough better to bethinke her selfe; she
went away repining, but not repenting: condemning
greatly (as she thought) her sonnes ouer-feeble
humblenesse, and purposing to egge him forward to a course of
violence. For her selfe, determining to deale with
neither of them both any more in maner of a suter: for what maiestie of
vertue did in the one, that did silent humblenesse in the
other. But finding her sonne ouer-apt to lay both
condemnation, and execution of sorrowe vppon himselfe, she sought to
mitigate his minde with feigned delayes of comforte, who (hauing this
inward ouerthrow in himselfe) was the more vexed, that he
coulde not vtter the rage thereof vpon his outward enemies.
For Basilius
taught by the last
dayes triall, what daungerous effectes chosen courages can bring forth,
rather vsed the spade, then the sworde; or the sworde, but to defende
the spade; girding aboute the whole towne with trenches; which
beginning a good way of from the towne, with a number of well directed
Pioners, he still caryed before him till they came to a neere distance,
where he builded Fortes, one answering the other, in such sort, as it
was a prettie consideration in the discipline of warre, to see building
used for the instrument of ruine, and the assayler entrenched as if he
were besieged. But many sallies did Amphialus make to hinder
their
woorking. But they (exercising more melancholie, then choller in their
resolution) made him finde, that if by the advauntage of place, fewe
are able to defende themselues from manie, that manie must needes haue
power, (making themselues strong in seate) to repell fewe; referring
the reuenge rather to the ende, then a present requitall. Yet
oftentimes they dealt some blowes in light skirmishes, eche side hauing
a strong retyring place, and rather fighting with manie alarums, to
vexe the enemie, then for anie hope of great successe.
Which euerie
way was a tedious
comber to the impacient courage of Amphialus: till the fame of
this
warre, bringing thither diuerse, both straungers, and subiects, as well
of princely, as noble houses, the gallant Phalantus, who
restrayned his
sportfull delightes as then, to serue Basilius, (whome he
honoured for
receyued honours) when he had spent some time in considering the Arcadian
manner in marching, encamping, and fighting, and
had learned
in what points of gouernement, and obedience their discipline differed
from others, and had satisfied his minde in the knowledge, both for the
cutting off the enemies helpes, and furnishing ones selfe, which Basilius
orders coulde deliuer vnto him, his yong spirites (wearie of
wanting cause to be wearie) desired to keepe his valure in knowledge,
by some priuate acte, since the publique policie restrayned him; the
rather, because his olde mistresse Artesia might see, whome
she had so
lightly forsaken: and therefore demaunding and obteyning leaue of Basilius;
he caused a Heraulde to be furnished with apparell
of his office, and tokens of a
peaceable message, and so sent him to the gate of the towne to demaunde
audience of Amphialus: who vnderstanding thereof, caused him
both
safely, and courteously to be brought into his presence: who making
lowly reuerence vnto him, presented his Letters, desiring Amphialus
that whatsoeuer they conteyned, he woulde consider that he was
onely
the bearer, but not the inditer. Amphialus with noble
gentlenesse
assured him both, by honourable speeches, and a demeanure which
aunswered for him, that his reuenge, whensoeuer, should sort vnto it
selfe a higher subiect. But opening the Letters, he found them to
speake in this maner.
PHalantus of Corinthe, to Amphialus
of Arcadia, sendeth the greeting
of a hatelesse enemie. The
liking of martiall matters
without anie
mislike of your person, hath brought me rather to the companie, then to
the minde of your besiegers: where languishing in idlenesse, I desire
to refresh my minde with some exercise of armes, which might make
knowne the dooers, with delight of the beholders. Therefore, if there
be any Gentleman in your Towne, that eyther for the loue of Honour, or
honour of his Loue, well armed, on horsebacke, with launce, and sworde,
will winne another, or loose himselfe, to be a prisoner at discretion
of the conquerour, I will to morrowe morning by Sunne rising, with a
trumpet and a Squire onely, attende him in like order furnished. The
place I thinke fittest, the Iland within the Lake, because it standes
so
well in the view of your Castell, as that the Ladies may haue the
pleasure of seeing the combate: which though it be within the
commaundement of your Castell, I desire no better securitie, then the
promise I make to my selfe of your vertue. I attende your aunswere, and
wish you such successe as may be to your honour, rather in yeelding to
that which is iust, then in mainteyning wrong by much violence.
Amphialus
read it with cheerefull countenance,
and thinking but a little with himselfe, called for inke and paper,
and wrote this aunswere.
AMphialus of Arcadia, to Phalantus
of Corinthe,
wisheth all his owne wishes, sauing those which may be
hurtful to another. The matter of your letters so fit for a worthy
minde, and the
maner so sutable to the noblenesse of the matter, giue me cause to
thinke howe happie I might accounte my selfe, if I coulde get such a
friende, who esteeme it no small happinesse to haue mette with so noble
an enemie. Your chalenge shall be aunswered, and both time, place, and
weapon accepted. For your securitie for any treacherie (hauing no
hostage woorthie to countervaile you) take my woorde, which I esteeme
aboue all respectes. Prepare therefore your armes to fight, but not
your hart to malice; since true valure needes no other whetstone, then
desire of honour.
HAuing writte and sealed his letter, he
deliuered it to the
Heraulde, and withall tooke a faire chaine
from off his owne necke, and
gaue it him. And so with safe conuoy sent him away from out his Citie:
and he being gone, Amphialus shewed vnto his mother, and some
other of
his chiefe Counsailours, what he had receyued, and howe he had
aunswered: telling them withall, that he was determined to aunswere the
chalenge in his owne person. His mother with prayers authorized by
motherly commaundement; his olde gouernour with perswasions mingled
with reprehensions, (that he would rather affect the glorie of a
priuate fighter, then of a wise Generall) Clinias with falling
downe at
his feete, and beseeching him to remember, that all their liues
depended vppon his safetie, sought all to dissuade him. But Amphialus
(whose hart was enflamed with courage, and courage enflamed
with
affection) made an imperious resolution cutte off the tediousnesse of
replyes, giuing them in charge, what they shoulde doo vppon all
occasions, and particularly to deliuer the Ladies, if otherwise then
well happened vnto him: onely desiring his mother, that she woulde
bring Philoclea
to a window, where she might with ease perfectly
discerne the combat. And so, as soone as the morning beganne to draw
dewe from the fairest greenes, to wash her face withall, against the
approach of the burning Sunne, he went to his stable, where himselfe
chose out a horse, whom (though he was neere twentie yeere olde) he
preferred for a peece of sure seruice, before a great nu[m]ber of
yonger.
His colour was of a browne bay, dapled thick with black spots; his
forhead marked with a white starre; to which, in all his bodie there
was no part sutable, but the left foote before; his mane and
taile black, and thick, of goodly, and well proportioned greatnes. He
caused him to be trimmed with a sumptuous saddle of tawnie, and golde
ennamell, enriched with pretious stones: his furniture was made into
the fashio[n] of the branches of a tree, from which the leaues were
falling: and so artificiallie were the leaues made, that as the horse
moued, it seemed indeed that the leaues wagged, as when the winde
plaies with them; and being made of a pale cloath of gold, they did
beare the straw-coloured liuerie of ruine. His armour was also of
tawnie and golde, but formed into the figure of flames darckened, as
when they newelie breake the prison of a smoakie furnace. In his
shielde he had painted the Torpedo fish. And so appointed, he
caused
himselfe, with his trumpet and squire (whom he had taken since the
death of Ismenus) to be ferried ouer into the Iland: a place
well chosen
for such a purpose. For, it was so plaine, as there was scarcely any
bush, or hillock, either to vnleuell, or shadowe it: of length and
breadth enough, to trie the vttermost both of launce and sword, and the
one end of it facing of the castle, the other extending it selfe toward
the campe, and no accesse to it, but by water: there coulde no secreate
trecherie be wrought, and for manifest violence, ether side might haue
time inough to succour their party.
But there he
found Phalantus, alredy waiting for him vpon a horse,
milke white, but that vpon his shoulder and withers, he was fretned
with red staines, as when a few strawberies are scattered into a dish
of creame. He had caused his mane and taile to be died in carnation;
his reines were vine branches, which ingendring one with the other, at
the end, when it came to the bitte, there, for the bosse, brought
foorth a cluster of grapes, by the workeman made so liuely, that it
seemed, as the horse champed on his bitte, he chopped for them, and
that it did make his mouth water, to see the grapes so neere him. His
furniture behind was of vines, so artificially made, as it semed the
horse stood in the shadow of the vine, so pretily were clusters of
rubie grapes dispersed among the trappers which embraced his sides. His
armour was blew, like the heauen, which a Sun did with his rayes
(proportionately deliuered) guilde in most places. His shield was
beautified with this deuice; A greyhound, which ouerrunning his
fellow, and taking the hare, yet hurts it not whe[n] it takes it. The
word was, The glorie, not the pray.
But as soone as Amphialus landed, he sent
his squire to Phalantus, to
tel him, that there was the Knight, redy to know whether he had any
thing to him. Phalantus answered, that his answere now must be
in the
la[n]guage of launces; & so each attended the warning of the
tru[m]pets,
which were to sound at the appointment of foure iudges, who with
consideration of the same, had deuided the ground. Phalantus-his
horse
young, and feeling the youth of his master, stoode coruetting; which
being wel gouerned by Phala[n]tus, gaue such a
glittering grace, as when
the Sunne shines vpon a wauing water, Amphialus-horse stood
panting vpon the ground, with his further foot before, as if he would
for his
masters cause begin to make himselfe angry: till the trumpet sounded
together. Together they set spurres to their horses, together took
their launces from their thighes, conueied them vp into their restes
together, together let them sinke downward; so as it was a delectable
sight, in a dangerous effect; and a pleasant consideration, that there
was so perfect agreement, in so mortall disagreement: like a musick,
made of cunning discords. But their horses keeping an euen line their
masters had skilfully allotted vnto them, passed one by another without
encountring, although either might feel the angry breath of other. But
the staues being come to a iust descent, but euen when the mark was
ready to meet them, Amphialus was runne through the vamplate,
and vnder the arme: so as the staffe appearing behind him, it semed to
the
beholders he had bene in danger. But he strake Phalantus iust
vpon the
gorget, so as he battred the lamms therof, and made his head almost
touch the back of his horse. But either side hauing staied the spur,
& vsed the bit to stop their horses fury, casting away the
tro[n]cheons of their staues, & drawing their swords, they attended
the second summons of the death-threatning trumpet, which quickly
folowed; and they assoone making their horses answer their ha[n]ds,
with a
ge[n]tle galop, set the one toward the other; til being come in the
neernes of litle more then a staues length. Amphialus trusting
more to
the strength, then to the nimblenes of his horse, put him foorth with
speedie violence, and making his head ioyne to the others flanke,
guiding his blow with discretion, and strengthning it with the course
of his horse, strake Phalantus vpon the head, in such
sort, that his feeling sense did both dazell his sight, and astonish
his hearing. But Phalantus (not accustomed to be vngratefull to
such
benefites) strake him vpon the side of his face, with such a force,
that he thought his iawe had bene cut asunder: though the faithfulnes
of his armour indeede garded him from further damage. And so remayned
they awhile, rather angry with fighting, then fighting for anger, till Amphialus-his
horse, leaning harde vpon the other, and
winning ground,
the other horse feeling himselfe prest, began to rise a little before,
as he was woont to doo in his coruette: which advantage Amphialus
taking, set forward his own horse with the further spurre, so as Phalantus-his
horse came ouer with his master vnder him. Which Amphialus
seeing, lighted, with intention to help Phalantus.
But his
horse that had faulted, rather with vntimely arte, then want of force,
gatte vp from burdning his burden, so as Phalantus (in the
fall hauing
gotten his feete free of & the stirrop) could (though something
bruised) arise, seeing Amphialus neere him, he asked him,
Whether he
had giue[n] him any help in remouing his horse. Amphialus said
No. Truely
sayd Phalantus, I asked it, because I would not willingly haue
fought
with him, that had had my life in his mercie. But now (said Phalantus)
before we proceed further, let me know who you are, because neuer yet
did any man bring me to the like fortune. Amphialus listing to
keepe
him selfe vnknowne, told him he was a Gentlema[n], to whom Amphialus
that
day had giuen armour and horse to trie his valour, hauing neuer before
bene in any combat worthy remembrance. Ah, (said Phalantus in
a rage)
And must I be the exercise of your prentisage? & with that, choler
tooke away either the bruse, or the feeling of the bruse, so as he
entred a fresh into the co[m]bat, & boiling in his armes the
disdaine
of his harte, strake so thicke vpon Amphialus, as if euery blow
would
faine haue bene foremost. But Amphialus (that many like trials
had
taught, great spending to leaue small remnants) let passe the storme
with strong wardes, and nimble auoidings: till seeing his time fit,
both for distaunce and nakednes, he strake him so cruell a blow on the
knee, that the poore Gentleman fell downe withall in a sowne.
But Amphialus,
pittying approued valoure, made pretious by naturall curtesie, went to
him; & taking of his head-piece to giue
him aire, the young Knight (disdained to buy life with yeelding) had
him vse his fortune: for he was resolued neuer to yeeld. No more you
shall (said Amphialus) if it be not to my request, that you
will
account your self to haue great interest in me. Phalantus more
ouercome
by his kindnes, the[n] by his fortune, desired yet once againe to know
his
name, who in his first beginning had shewed such furie in his force,
and yet such stay in his furie. Amphialus, then named himselfe,
telling
him withal, he would think his name much bettred, if it might be
honored by the title of his frie[n]d. But no Baulme could be more
comfortable to his wound, then the knowledge thereof was to his mind,
when he knew his mishap should be excused by the renowmed valour of the
other. And so promising each to other assurednes of good will, Phalantus,
(of whom Amphialus would haue no other raunsome, but his
word of frie[n]dship) was conueyed into the campe, where he would but
litle
remaine among the enimies of Amphialus: but went to seeke his
aduentures other-where.
CHAP.
12.
1 Philocleas il-taking
Amphialus wel-meaning. 2 His chal-
lenge and
conquests continued for Loue, & his loue. 3 Ar-
galus sent for to
this challenge. 4 The coniugall happines
of him and his wife. 5 The
passions stirred by this message.
6 Their sorrow-sounding farewell. 7 Argalusis defie.
8 Amphialusis answere. 9 Argalusis furniture. 10 Their
combat, bloudy to both, deadly to Argalus. 11 Parthenia
comes to the end
of it, and him. 12 Her 13 and his lamen-
tations. 14 The funerals.
S for Amphialus he was receaued
with triumph into the castle; although
one might
see by his eyes (humbly lifted
vp to the window where Philoclea stood) that he was rather
suppliaunt, then
victorious: whiche
occasion Cecropia taking, (who as then stoode by Philoclea,
and had
lately lefte Pamela in another roome, whence also she might see
the
combate) Sweet Lady (said she) now you may see, whether you haue cause
to loue my sonne, who then lies vnder your feete, when he
standes vpon the necke of his brauest enemies. Alas said Philoclea,
a
simple seruice to me, me thinkes it is, to haue those, who come to
succour me, destroied: If it be my dutie to call it loue, be it so:
but the effects it brings foorth I confesse I account hatefull. Cecropia
grew so angry with this vnkind answere, that she
could not
abstayne from telling her, that she was like them that could not
sleepe, when they were softly layed: but that if her sonne would follow
her counsell, he should take another course with her: and so flange
away from her.
Yet (knowing
the desperate melancholy of Amphialus in like cases)
framed to him a very thankefull message, poudring it with some
hope-giuing phrases; which were of such ioy to Amphialus, that
he
(though against publike respect:, & importunity of dissuaders)
presently caused it to be made knowne to the campe, that whatsoeuer
Knight would trie the like fortune as Phalantus did, he should
in like
sorte be answered: so as diuers of the valiantest, partly of
themselues, partly at the instigation of Basilius, attempted
the combat
with him: and according to euery ones humour, so were the causes of the
challege grou[n]ded: one laying treason to his charge; another
preferring
himselfe in the worthines to serue Philoclea; a third, exalting
some
Ladies beautie beyond ether of the sisters; a fourth, laying disgraces
to Loue it selfe, naming it the bewitcher of the witt, the rebell to
Reason, the betrayer of resolution, the defiler of thoughts, the
vnderminer of magnanimitie, the flatterer of vice, the slaue to
weakenesse, the infection of youth, the madnesse of age; the curse of
life, and reproch of deathe; a fifth, disdayning to caste at lesse
then at all, woulde make the cause of his quarrell the causers of loue,
and proclayme his blasphemies against womankinde; that namely that sex
was the ouersight of Nature, the disgrace of reasonablenes, the
obstinate cowards, the slaue-borne tyrants, the shops of vanities, the
guilded wethercocks; in who[m] conscience is but peeuishnes, chastitie
waywardnes, & gratefulnes a miracle. But all these challenges (how
wel so euer endited) were so well answered, that some by death taught
others, though past learning themselues; & some by yeelding gaue
themselues the lie for hauing blasphemed; to the great griefe of Basilius,
so to see his Rebell preuaile, and in his own
sight to crowne himselfe with deserued honour.
Wherupon
thirsting for reuenge, & else not hoping to preuaile, the
best of his campe being already ouerthrowne; he sent a messenger to Argalus,
in whose approued courage and force, he had (and had cause) to
haue great confidence, with a letter; requiring him, to take this
quarrell in hand, from which he had hetherto spared him in respect: of
his late mariage. But now his honour, and (as he esteemed it) felicitie
standing vpon it, he could no longer forbeare to chalenge of him his
faithfull seruice.
The messenger made speede, and found Argalus at
a castle of his owne,
sitting in a parler with the
faire Parthenia, he
reading in a booke the
stories of Hercules, she by him, as to heare him reade; but
while his
eyes looked on the booke, she looked on his eies, & sometimes
staying him with some prety question, not so much to be resolued of the
double; as to giue him occasion to looke vpon her. A happy couple, he
ioying in her, she ioying in her selfe, but in her selfe, because she
enioyed him: both encreasing their riches by giuing to each other; each
making one life double, because they made a double life; one, where
desire neuer wanted satisfactio[n], nor satisfaction neuer bred
sacietie;
he ruling, because she would obey: or rather because she would obey,
she therein ruling.
But when the messenger came in with letters in his
hand, & hast in
his countenance, though she
knew not what to feare, yet
she feared,
because she knew not; but she rose, and went aside, while he deliuered
his letters and message; yet a far of she looked, now at the messenger,
& then at her husband: the same feare, which made her loth to haue
cause of feare, yet making her seeke cause to nourish her feare. And
wel she fou[n]d there was some serious matter; for her husbands
countenance figured some resolution betweene lothnesse and necessitie:
and once his eie cast vpon her, & finding hers vpon him, he
blushed; & she blushed, because he blushed; and yet streight grew
paler, because she knew not why he had blushed. But when he had read,
& heard, & dispatched away the messenger (like a man in whom
Honour could not be rocked on sleepe by Affection) with promise quickly
to follow; he came to Parthenia, and as sorie as might be for
parting,
and yet more sorie for her sorrow, he gaue her the letter to reade. She
with fearful slownes tooke it, and with fearefull quicknesse read it;
and
hauing read it, Ah my Argalus (said
she) and haue you made such hast to
answere? and are you so soone resolued to leaue me? But he discoursing
vnto her, how much it imparted his honour (which since it was deare to
him, he knew it would be deare vnto her) her reason ouerclowded with
sorow, suffered her not presently to replie, but left the charge
thereof to teares, and sighes; which he not able to beare, left her
alone, and went to giue order for his present departure.
By that time he was armde, and readie to go, she had
recouered a little
strength of spirite againe, &
coming out, & seing him
armed,
& wanting nothing for his departure but her farewell, she ran to
him, tooke him by the arme, and kneeling downe without regard, who
either heard her speach, or saw her demeanour, My Argalus, my Argalus
(said she) doo not thus forsake me. Remember, alas, Remember
that I
haue interest in you, which I will neuer yeeld shalbe thus aduentured.
Your valour is already sufficiently knowne: sufficiently haue you
already done for your country: ennow, ennow there are besides you to
loose lesse worthie liues. Woe is me, what shall become of me, if you
thus abandon me? Then was it time for you to follow these aduentures,
when you aduentured no body but your selfe, and were no bodies but your
owne. But now pardon me, that now, or neuer, I claime mine owne; mine
you are, & without me you can vndertake no da[n]ger: & will you
endager Parthenia? Parthenia shalbe in the battle of your
fight: Parthenia shall smart in your paine, & your blood
must be bled by Parthenia. Deare Parthenia (said he)
this is the first time, that euer
you resisted my will: I thanke you for it; but perseuer not in it;
& let not the teares of those most beloued eies be a presage vnto
me of that, which you would not should happen. I shal liue, doubte not:
for so great a blessing, as you are, was not giuen vnto me, so soone to
be depriued of it. Looke for me therefore shortly, and victorious; and
prepare a ioyfull welcome, and I will wish for no other triumph. She
answered not, but stood as it were thunder-striken with amazement: for
true Loue made obedience stande vp against all other passions. But when
he tooke her in his armes, and sought to printe his harte in her sweete
lippes, she fell in a sounde, so as he was faine to leaue her to her
Gentlewomen; and caried away by the tyrannie of Honour, though with
manie a
backe-cast looke, and hartie grone, went to the campe. When
vnderstanding the notable victories of Amphialus, he thought to
giue
him some dayes respite of rest, because he woulde not haue his victorie
disgraced by the others wearinesse. In which dayes, he sought by all
meanes (hauing leaue to parley with him) to dissuade him from his
enterprise: and then imparting his mind to Basilius, because he
found Amphialus was inflexible, wrote his defie vnto him in
this maner.
RIght
famous Amphialus, if my persuasion in reason, or praier in
good wil, might preuaile with you, you should by better meanes be like
to obteine your desire. You shoulde make many braue enemies become your
faithful serua[n]ts, & make your honor flie vp to the heaue[n],
being
caried vp by both the wings of valure & iustice; whereof now it
wants the latter. But since my suite, nor counsel can get no place in
you, disdaine not to receiue a mortall chalenge, from a man so farre
inferiour vnto you in vertue, as that I do not so much mislike of the
deed, as I haue the doer in admiration. Prepare therfore your self,
according to the noble maner you haue vsed, and think not lightly of
neuer so weake an arme, which strikes with the sword of iustice.
To this quickely he receiued this answere.
MVch more famous Argalus, I, whom
neuer threatnings could make afraid,
am now terrified by
your noble curtesie. For wel I
knowe, from what
height of vertue it doth proceed, and what cause I haue to doubt such
vertue bent to my ruine: but Loue, which iustifieth the vniustice you
lay vnto me, dooth also animate me against all daungers, since I come
full of him by whom your selfe haue beene (if I be not deceiued)
sometimes conquered. I will therfore attend your appearaunce in the
Ile,
carying this advantage with me, that as it shal be a singular honour if
I get the victorie, so there can be no dishonour in being ouercome by Argalus.
The chalenge thus denounced, and accepted, Argalus
was armed in a white
armour, which was
guilded ouer with knots of
womans haire, which came
downe from the crest of his head-peece, and spred it selfe in rich
qua[n]titie ouer all his armour: his furniture was cut out into the
fashion of an Eagle, whereof the beake (made into a rich iewell) was
fastened to the saddle, the taile couered the crooper of the horse, and
the wings serued for
trappers; which falling of ech side, as the horse stirred, the bird
seemed to flie. His pettrell and reines, were embrodered with feathers
sutable vnto it: vpon his right arme he ware a sleeue, which his deare Parthenia
had made for him, to be worne in a iustee, in the time that
successe was vngratefull to their well-deserued loue: It was full of
bleeding hartes, though neuer intended to any blooddie enterprise. In
this shield (as his owne deuice) he had two Palme trees, neere one
another, with a worde signifying, In that sort flourishing. His
horse
was of a fine sorrell, with blacke feete, and blacke list on his back,
who with open nostrels breathed warre, before he could see an enemy:
and now vp with one legge, and then with another, seemed to complain of
Nature, that she had made him any whit earthie.
But he had
scarcely viewed the grounde of the Ilande, and considered
the advauntages (if any were) therof, before the Castel boat had
deliuered Amphialus, in al points prouided to giue a hard
entertainme[n]t.
And then sending ech to other their Squires in honourable maner, to
knowe whether they should attende any further ceremony; the trumpets
sounding, the horses with smooth running, their staues with vnshaked
motion, obediently performed their cholericke co[m]mandements. But when
they drew nere, Argalus-his horse being hot, prest in with his
head:
which Amphialus perceiuing, knowing if he gaue him his side, it
should
be to his disaduauntage, prest in also with him, so as both the horses
& men met shoulder to shoulder, so as the horses (hurt as much with
the striking, as being striken) tumbled downe to the earth,
daungerously to their maister, but that they by strength nimble, and by
use skilfull, in the falling shunned the harme of the fall, and
without more respite, drewe out their swordes with a gallant brauerie,
eche striuing to shewe himselfe the lesse endamaged, and to make knowne
that they were glad, they had nowe nothing else to trust to, but their
owne vertue. True it is, that Amphialus was the sooner vp; but Argalus
had his sworde out the sooner: and then fell they to the cruellest
combate, that any present eye had seene. Their swordes first, like
Canons, battering downe the walles of their armour, making breaches
almost in euerie place for troupes of woundes to enter. Among the rest,
Argalus gaue a great wound to Amphialus-his disarmed
face; though part
of the force of it Amphialus warded vpon his shielde, and
with-all
(first casting his eye vp to Philocleas Window, as if he had
fetched
his courage thence) feyning to entend the same sort of blowes, turned
his sword, and with a mightie reuerse, gaue a cruell wounde to the
right arme of Argalus, the vnfaythfull armour yeelding to the
swoordes
strong-guided sharpenesse. But though the blood accused the hurt of Argalus,
yet woulde he in no action of his confesse it: but keeping
himselfe in a lower warde, stoode watching with timely thrustes to
repaire his losse; which quickly he did. For Amphialus
(following his
fawning fortune) laid on so thicke vpon Argalus, that his
shield had
almost fallen peece-meale to the earth, when Argalus comming in
with
his right foote, and something stowping to come vnder his armour,
thrust him into the belly daungerously, and mortally it would haue
beene, but that with the blowe before, Amphialus had
ouerthrowne
himselfe so, as he fell side-warde downe, and with falling saued
himselfe from ruine. The sworde by that meanes slipping aside, and not
pearcing more deepely, Argalus seeing him fall, threatning with
voyce
and sworde, bad him yeelde. But he striuing without aunswere to rise, Argalus
strake with all his might vpon his head. But his hurte arme not
able to maister so sounde a force, let the swoorde fall so, as Amphialus,
though astonished with the blowe, could arise:
which Argalus
considering, ranne in to graspe with him, and so closed together;
falling so to the grounde, nowe one getting aboue, and then the other;
at length, both wearie of so vnlouely embracements, with a dissenting
consent gate vp, and went to their swordes: but happened eche of his
enemies: where Argalus finding his foes sworde garnished in his
blood,
his hart rase with the same swoorde to reuenge it, and on that blade to
allie their bloods together. But his minde was euill wayted-on by his
lamed force, so as he receyued still more and more woundes, which made
all his armour seeme to blush, that it had defended his master no
better. But Amphialus perceiuing it, & waying the small
hatefulnesse of their quarrell, with the worthinesse of the Knight,
desired him to take pitie of himselfe. But Argalus,
the more repining,
the more he founde himselfe in disaduauntage, filling his veynes with
spite in steade of blood, and making courage arise agaynst faintnesse,
(like a Candle, which a
little before it goes out, giues then the greatest blaze) so did he
vnite all his force, that casting away the little remnaunt of his
shielde, and taking his swoorde in both handes, he stroke such a
notable blowe, that he cleft his shielde, armour, and arme almost to
the bone.
But then Amphialus
forgat all ceremonies, and with cruell blowes
made more of his blood succeed the rest; til his hand being staied by
his eare, his eare filled with a pitifull crie, the crie guided his
sight to an excellent faire Ladie, who came running as fast as she
could, and yet because she coulde not as fast as she would, she sent
her lamentable voyce before her: and being come, and being knowne to
them both, to be the beautifull Parthenia, (who had that night
dreamed
shee sawe her husbande in such estate, as she then founde him, which
made her make such haste thither) they both maruailed. But Parthenia
ranne betweene them (feare of loue making her forget the feare of
Nature) and then fell downe at their feete, determining so to part
them, till she coulde get breathe to sigh out her doolefull speeches:
and when her breath (which running had spent, and dismayednesse made
slowe to returne) had by sobbes gotten into her sorow-closed breast,
for a while she coulde say nothing, but, O wretched eyes of mine, O
wailefull sight, O day of darkenesse: at length turning her eyes
(wherein sorrowe swamme) to Amphialus, My Lorde (saide she) it
is saide
you loue; in the power of that loue, I beseech you to leaue of this
combate, as euen your harte may finde comfort in his affection, euen
for her sake, I craue it: or if you be mortally determined, be so
pitifull vnto me, as first to kill me, that I may not see the death of Argalus.
Amphialus was aboute to haue aunswered, when Argalus,
vexed
with his Fortune, but most vexed that she shoulde see him in that
fortune, Ah Parthenia (saide he) neuer till nowe vnwelcome vnto
me, do
you come to get my life by request? And can not Argalus liue
but by
request? Is it a life? With that he went aside, for feare of hurting
her, and woulde haue begunne the combate afresh. But Amphialus
not
onely coniured by that which helde the Monarchie of his mind, but euen
in his noble hart melting with compassion at so passionate a sight,
desired him to withholde his handes, for that he shoulde strike one,
who sought his fauour, and woulde not make resistaunce. A notable
example of the woonderfull effectes of Vertue,
where the conquerour, sought for friendship of the conquered, and the
conquered woulde not pardon the conquerour: both indeede being of that
minde to loue eche other for accepting, but not for giuing mercie, and
neyther affected to ouer-liue a dishonour: so that Argalus not
so much
striuing with Amphialus (for if he had had him in the like
sorte, in
like sort he would haue dealt with him) as labouring against his owne
power (which he chiefly despised) set himselfe forward, stretching his
strength to the vttermost. But the fire of that strife, blowen with his
inward rage, boyled out his bloud in such aboundance, that he was
driuen to rest him vpon the pommel of his sword: and then each thing
beginning to turne rounde in the daunce of Death before his eyes, his
sight both dazled, and dimmed, till (thinking to sit downe) he fell in
a sowne. Parthenia, and Amphialus both hastely went
vnto him: Amphialus tooke of his helmet, and Parthenia
laid
his head in her lap,
tearing of her linnen sleeues & partlet, to serue about his wounds;
to bind which, she tooke of her hair-lace, and would haue cut of her
faire haire herselfe, but that the squires and iudges came in with
fitter things for the purpose: while she bewayled her selfe with so
lamentable sweetnes, as was inough to haue taught sorrow to the
gladdest thoughts, and haue engraued it in the mindes of hardest
mettall.
O Parthenia,
no more Parthenia (said she) What art thou? what seest
thou? how is thy blisse in a moment fallen? how art thou, euen-now
before all Ladies the example of perfect happines, and now the
gasing-stock of endles miserie? O God, what hath bene my desert to be
thus punished? or if such haue bene my desert, why was I not in my
selfe punished? O wandring life, to what wildernes wouldst thou lead
one? But Sorow, I hope thou art sharp inough to saue my labour from
other remedies. Argalus, Argalus, I will folow thee, I
wil folow thee.
But with that Argalus came out of his sowne,
and lifting vp his
languishing eyes (which a painefull
rest, and iron sleepe did
seeke to
lock vp) seeing her, in who[m] (euen dying) he liued, and him selfe
seated
in so beloued a place, it seemed a little cheerefull bloud came vp to
his cheekes, like a burning cole, almost dead, if some breath a little
reuiue it: & forcing vp (the best he could) his feeble voice, My
deare, my deare, my better halfe
(said he) I finde I must now leaue thee: and by that sweet hand, and
faire eyes of thine I sweare, that Death bringes nothing with it to
grieue me, but that I must leaue thee, and cannot remaine to answere
part of thy infinit deserts, with being some comfort vnto thee. But
since so it pleaseth him, whose wisdome and goodnesse guideth all, put
thy confidence in him, and one day we shall blessedly meet againe,
neuer to depart: meane while liue happily, deare Parthenia, and
I
perswade my selfe, it will increase the blessednes of my soule, so to
see thee. Loue well the remembrance of thy louing, and truely louing, Argalus:
and let not (with that worde he sighed) this disgrace of mine,
make thee one day thinke, thou hadst an vnwoorthie husband. They could
scarcely vnderstand the last wordes: for Death began to seaze him selfe
of his harte, neither coulde Parthenia make answere, so full
was her
breast of anguish. But while the other sought to stanch his remediles
wounds, she with her kisses made him happie: for his last breath was
deliuered into her mouth.
But when
indeede she found his ghost was gone, then Sorrowe lost the
witte of vtterance, and grewe ragefull, and madde, so that she tare her
beautifull face, and rent her haire, as though they could serue for
nothing, since Argalus was gone; till Amphialus (so
moued with pittie
of that sight, as that he honoured his aduersaries death with teares)
caused her (with the helpe of her women that came with her) partelie by
force, to be conueyed into boate, with the dead body of Argalus,
from
which she could not depart. And being come of the other side, there she
was receaued by Basilius him selfe, with all the funerall pompe
of
militarie discipline, trayling all their Ensignes vpon the ground,
making his warlike instruments sound dolefull notes, and Basilius
(with
comfort in his mouth, and woe in his face) sought to perswade some ease
into Parthenias minde: but all was as easefull to her, as the
handling
of sore woundes: all the honour done, being to her but the triumph of
her ruine, she finding no comfort, but in desperate yeelding to Sorrow:
and rather determined to hate her selfe, if euer she should finde ease
thereof. And well might she heare as she past through the Campe, the
great prayses spoken of her husbande, which all were recordes of her
losse. But the more excellent he was (being indeede accounted seconde
to none in all Greece) the more did
the breath of those praises, beare vp the winges of Amphialus-his
fame: to whom yet (such was his case) that Trophe vpon Trophe, still
did but builde vp the monume[n]t of his thraldome; he euer finding
himselfe in such fauour of Philoclea, that she was most absent, when he
was present with her; and euer sorriest, when he had best successe:
which would haue made him renounce all comfort, but that his mother,
with diuersity of deuises, kept vp his hart.
But while he allayed thus his outward glorie, with
inward discomfort,
he was like to haue bene ouertaken with a notable treason, the
beginning wherof (though meerely ridiculous) had like to haue brought
forth vnto him a weeping effect.
CHAP.
13.
1 Dametas put in harte
2 to defie Clinias. 3 Clinias out of
harte to see
the vie. 4 Dametas brauerie, adoubements,
and imprese. 5 Clinias drawne 6 to
answere him. 7 Their
passions in comming to the field. 8 Their
actions in it, not
so doubty, as their fortune doubtfull. 9 Clinias
yeelding to
triumphant Dametas.
Mong other that attended Basilius
in this expedition, Dametas was one; whether to
be present with him, or absent
from Miso: once, certaine it was without any minde to make his
sworde cursed
by any widow. Nowe, being in the campe, while each talke seemed
iniurious, which did not acknowledge some duety to the fame of Amphialus,
it fell out sometimes in communication, that as
the speech
of heauen doth often beget the mention of hell, so the admirable prowes
of Amphialus (by a cotrarie) brought forth the remembrance of
the
cowardise of Clinias: in so much, as it grew almost to a
prouerb, As
very a cowarde, as Clinias. Describing him in such sort, that
in the
end, Dametas began to thinke with himselfe, that if he made a
chalenge vnto him, he would neuer answere it; and that then he should
greatly
encrease the fauourable conceite of Basilius. This fancie of
his he
uttered to a young Gentleman, that waited vpon Phiilanax, in
whose
friendship he had especiall co[n]fidence, because he haunted his
company, laughing often merely at his
speeches, and not a little extolling the goodly dotes of Mopsa.
The
young Gentleman as glad, as if he had found a Hare sitting, egd him on,
breaking the matter with Philanax, and then (for feare the
humour
should quayle in him) wrote a challenge him selfe for Damætas,
and
brought it to him. But when Damætas read it, putting his
head on
his shoulder, and somewhat smiling; he said, it was prettie indeed; but
that it had not a loftie stile enough: and so would needes indite it in
this sort.
O Clinias,
thou Clinias, the wickedest worme that euer went, vpon
two
legges; the very fritter of fraude, and seething pot of iniquitie: I Damætas,
chiefe gouernour of all the royall cattell, and also of Pamela
{whom thy Maister most perniciously hath suggested out of my
dominion) doo defie thee, in a mortall affray from the bodkin to the
pike vpwarde. Which if thou doost presume to take in hande, I will out
of that superfluous bodie of thine make thy soule to be euacuated.
The young Gentleman seemed dumbe-striken with
admiration, and presently
tooke vpon him to be
the bearer thereof, while the
heate of the fit
lasted: and hauing gotten leaue of Basilius (euery one helping
on, to
ease his minde ouercharged with melancholy) he went into the towne
according to the manner before time vsed, and in the presence of Amphialus
deliuered this letter to Clinias; desiring
to haue an
answere, which might be fit for his reputation. Clinias opened
it, and
read it; and in the reading, his bloud not daring to be in so
daungerous a place, went out of his face, and hid it selfe more
inwardly: and his very wordes (as if they were afraid of blowes) came
very slowly out of his mouth: but, aswell as his painting breath would
utter it, he bad him tell the lowte that sent him, that he disdained to
haue any thing to doo with him. But Amphialus, perceauing the
matter,
tooke him aside, and very earnestly dealt with him not to shame
himselfe; Amphialus not onely desirous to bring it to passe to
make
some sport to Philoclea, but not being able to perswade with
him, Amphialus licenced the Gentleman, telling him, by the next
morning he
should haue answere.
The yong
Gentlema[n] (sory he had sped no better) returned to Damætas, who had fetched many a sower-breathed
sigh, for fear Clinias would accept the chale[n]ge. But whe[n]
he perceiued
by his trusty
messenger, that this delay was in effect a denial, there being no
dispositio[n] in him to accept it; then lo, Damætas began to speake his
lowd voice, to looke big, to march vp & down, & in his march to
lift his legs higher the he was wont, swearing by no meane deuotio[n]s,
that the wals should not keepe the coward fro[m] him, but he would
fetch
him out of his connie-berrie: & then was hotter then euer to
prouide himselfe of horse & armour, saying, he would go to the
Iland
brauely addoubed, & shew himself to his charge Pamela. To
this
purpose many willing ha[n]ds were about him, letting him haue reynes,
pettrell, with the rest of the furniture, and very braue bases; but all
comming from diuers houses, nether in coulour or fashion, shewing any
kinred one with another; but that liked Damætas the better: for that he
thought would argue, that he was maister of many braue furnitures. Then
gaue he order to a painter for his deuice; which was, a plowe with the
oxen lewsed from it, a sword with a great many armes and legges cut of;
and lastly a great armie of pen and inke-hornes, and bookes. Nether did
he sticke to tell the secrete of his intent, which was, that he had
lefte of the plowe, to doo such bloudy deedes with his swoorde, as many
inkehornes and bookes should be employed about the historifying of
them: and being asked, why he set no worde vnto it, he said, that was
indeede like the painter, that sayeth in his picture, Here is the dog,
and here is the Hare: & with that he laughed so perfectly, as was
great consolation to the beholders. Yet remembring, that Miso
would not
take it well at his returne, if he forgat his dutie to her, he caused
about in a border to be written:
Miso mine own pigsnie, thou shalt heare news o' Damætas.
Thus all things being condignely ordered, with an
ill fauoured
impatiencie he waited, vntil the next morning, that he might make a
muster of him selfe in the Iland; often asking them that very
diligently
wayted vpon him, whether it were not pittie, that such a coward, as Clinias,
should set his runaway feete vpon the face of the
earth?
But as he was by diuers principal yong Gentlemen, to his no small
glory, lifted vp on horsebacke, comes me a page of Amphialus,
who with humble smiling reuerence deliuered a letter vnto
him from Clinias: whom Amphialus had brought to this,
first with
perswasions (that for certaine, if he did accept the combat, Damætas would neuer dare to appeare, and that
then the honour
should be his) but principally threatning him, that if he refused it,
he would turne him out of the towne to be put to death for a traitour
by Basilius:
so as the present feare (euer to a coward most terrible)
of being turned out of the towne, made him, though full vnwillingly,
vndertake the other feare, wherein he had some shewe of hope, that Damætas might hap either to be sick, or not to
haue the courage to
performe the matter. But when Damætas heard the name of Clinias, very
aptly suspecting what the matter might be, he bad the page carry backe
his letter, like a naughty boy as he was: for he was in no humour, he
tolde him, of reading letters. But Damætas-his frie[n]d, first persuading
him, that for certaine it was some submission, tooke vpon him so much
boldnesse, as to open his letter, and to reade it alowd in this sort.
FIlthy
driuell, vnworthy to haue thy name set in any letter by a
souldiers hande written: could thy wretched harte thinke it was
timorousnesse, that made Clinias suspende
a while his answere? No
caitiffe, no: it was but as a Ramme, which goes backe to returne with
the greater force. Know therefore that thou shall no sooner appeare
(appeare now if thou darest) I say thou shalt no sooner appeare in the
Ilande (O happy thou, if thou doo not appeare) but that I will come
vpon thee withall my force; and cut thee in pieces (marke, what I saie)
ioynte after ioynte, to the eternall terrour of all presumptuous
villaynes. Therefore looke what thou doost: for I tell thee, horrible
smarte, and paine shalbe thy lot, if thou wilt needes be so foolish (I
hauing giuen thee no such cause) as to meete with me.
These terrible wordes Clinias
vsed, hoping they would giue a cooling to
the heate of Dametas-his
courage: and so indeede they
did, that he did
grone to heare the thundring of those threatnings. And when the
Gentleman had ended the reading of them, Damætas
tolde them, that in
his opinion he thought his answere came too late, and that therefore he
might very well go, and disarme him selfe: especially considering, the
other had in curteous maner warned him not to come. But they (hauing
him now on horsebacke) led him vnto the ferrie, and so into the Iland;
the clashing of his owne armour striking miserable feare into
him, and in his minde thinking greate vnkindnesse in his friende, that
he had brought him to a matter so contrarie to his complexion. There
stayed he but a little (the Gentlemen that came with him teaching him
how to vse his sworde and launce, while he cast his eye about, to see
which way he might runne away, cursing all Ilands in being euill
scituated) when Clinias with a braue sounde of trumpets landed
at the
other ende: who came all the way debating with himselfe, what he had
deserued of Amphialus to driue him to those inconueniences.
Sometimes
his witte made him bethinke him selfe what was beste to be done: but
feare did so corrupt his witt, that whatsoeuer he thought was best, he
still found daunger therein; fearefulnesse (contrarie to all other
vices) making him thinke the better of another, the worse he found him
selfe; rather imagining in him selfe, what wordes he would vse (if he
were ouercome) to get his life of Damætas, then how to ouercome,
whereof he could thinke with no patience. But oftentimes looking to the
Earth pittifully complayning, that a man of such suffciencie (as he
thought him selfe) shoulde in his best yeares be swallowed vp by so
base an element. Faine he would haue prayed, but he had not harte
inough to haue confidence in praier; the glittering of the armour, and
sounding of the trumpets giuing such an assault to the weake-breache of
his false senses, that he grewe from the degree of feare to an
amazement, not almost to know what he did; till two iudges (chosen for
the purpose) making the trumpets cease, and taking the oth of those
champions, that they came without guile or witchcraft, set them at
wonted distaunce; one from the other.
Then the
trumpets sounding, Damætas-his horse (used to such causes) when he
thought lest of the
matter, started out so lustely, that Damætas was iogde back with head,
and bodie, and pulling withall his bridle-hande, the horse (that was
tender of mouth) made halfe a stop, and fell to bounding, so that Damætas threw away his launce, and with both
his hands held by the
pummell: the horse, halfe running, halfe leaping, till he met with Clinias:
who fearing he should misse his reste, had put his
staffe
therein before he began his careere: neither would he then haue begun,
but that at the trumpets warning, one (that stood behinde) strake on
his horse, who running swiftly, the winde
tooke such holde of his staffe, that it crost quite ouer his breast,
and in that sorte gaue a flat bastonado to Damætas: who, halfe out of
his sadle, went neere to his olde occupation of digging the earth, but
with the creste of his helmet. Clinias when he was paste him,
not
knowing what he had done, but fearing lest Damætas were at his backe,
turned with a wide turne; & seeing him on the ground, he thought
then was his time, or neuer, to treade him vnder his horses feete;
& withall (if he could) hurt him with his launce, which had not
broken, the encounter was so easie. But putting forth his horse, what
with the falling of the staffe to low before the legs of the horse,
& the[n] coming vpon Damætas, who was then scra[m]bling vp, the
horse
fell ouer & ouer, and lay vpon Clinias. Which Damætas (who was
gotten vp) perceiuing, drew out his sword, prying which way he might
best come to kil Clinias behind. But the horse that lay vpon
him, kept
such a pawing with his feet, that Damætas durst not approch, but verie
leysurely; so as the horse (being lustie) gat vp, and withall fell to
strike, and leape, that Damætas started vp a good way, and gaue Clinias
time to rise, but so bruised in bodie, and broken in
hart, that
he meant to yeeld himselfe to mercie: and with that intent drew out his
sworde, entending when he came nearer, to present the pommell of it to Damætas. But Damætas, when he sawe him come with his sword
drawne,
nothing conceiuing of any such intent, went backe as fast as his backe
and heeles woulde leade him. But as Clinias founde that, he
beganne to
thinke a possibilitie in the victorie, and therefore followed with the
cruell haste of a preuailing cowarde; laying vpon Damætas, who did
nothing but crie out to him to holde his hand: sometimes that he was
dead, sometimes that he woulde complaine to Basilius: but still
bare
the blowes vngratefully, going backe, till at length he came into the
water with one of his feete.
But then a
new feare of drowning tooke him, so that not daring to go
back, nor to deliberat (the blows stil so lighted on him) nor to yeelde
(because of the cruell threatnings of Clinias) feare being come
to the
extremitie, fell to a madnesse of despaire: so that (winking as hard
as euer he could) he began to deale some blowes, and his arme (being
used to a flaile in his youth) laid the[m] on so thick, that Clinias
now
began with lame[n]table eies to see his owne blood come out in many
places, and before he
had lost halfe an ounce, finding in himselfe that he fainted, cried out
aloud to Damætas that he yeelded. Throw away thy sword
then (said Damætas) and I will saue thee; but still laying
on, as fast as he
could. Clinias straight obeyed, and humbly craued mercie,
telling him,
his sworde was gone. Then Damætas first opened his eyes, and seeing him
indeed vnweaponed, made him stande a good way of from it; and then
willed him to lie downe vpon the earth as flat as he could. Clinias
obeyed; and Damætas (who neuer could thinke himselfe safe,
till Clinias were deade) began to thinke with himselfe, that if
he strake at
him with his sworde, if he did not kill him at the first blowe, that
then Clinias might happe to arise, and reuenge himselfe.
Therefore he
thought best to kneele downe vpon him, and with a great whittle he had
(hauing disarmed his heade) to cut his throate, which he had vsed so
with Calues, as he had no small dexteritie in it. But while he sought
for his Knife, which vnder his armour he coulde not well finde out, and
that Clinias lay with so sheepish a countenaunce, as if he
would haue
beene glad to haue his throate cut for feare of more paine, the Iudges
came in, and tooke v from off him, telling him he did against
the lawe of Armes, hauing promised life, if he threwe away his sworde. Damætas was loath to consent, till they sware,
they woulde not suffer
him to fight any more, when he was vp: and then more forced, then
perswaded, he let him rise, crowing ouer him, and warning him to take
heede how he dealt any more with any that came of his fathers kinred.
But thus this combate of cowardes being finished, Damætas was with much
mirth and melodie receiued into the campe as victorious, neuer a Page
there failing to waite vpon this Triumph.
CHAP.
14.
1 Clinias a slie traitour.
2 Artesia his malcontent accomplice.
3 Zelmanes passions. 4 Her practise with
Artesia. 5 The
complot reuealed
to the disliking sisters, 6 bewrayed by
Pamela.
Vt Clinias, though he wanted
hart to preuent shame, yet he wanted not
witte to
feele shame; not so much
repining at it for the
abhorring of shame, as for the discommodities, that to them that are
shamed, ensue. For well he deemed, it would be a
great barre to practize, and a pulling on of iniuries, when men needed
not care, how they vsed him. Insomuch, that Clinias (finding
himselfe
the scorning-stocke of euery companie) fell with repining to hate the
cause thereof; & hate in a cowards hart, could set it selfe no
other limites, but death. Which purpose was well egged on by
representing vnto himselfe, what daunger he lately was in; which still
kept no lesse ougly figure in his minde, then when it was present: and
quickly (euen in his dissembling countenance) might be discerned a
concealed grudge. For though he forced in himselfe a farre more
diligent officiousnesse towarde Amphialus, then euer before,
yet a
leering eye vpon the one side at him, a countenance still framed to
smiling before him (how little cause soeuer there was of smiling) and
grombling behind him, at any of his commaundements, with an vncertaine
manner of behauiour: his words comming out, though full of flatterie,
yet slowly, and hoarcely pronounced, might well haue blazed, what armes
his false hart bare. But despised, because of his cowardlinesse, and
not marked, because despised, he had the freer scope of practize. Which
he did the more desperately enter into, because the dayly dangers Amphialus
did submit himselfe into, made Clinias
assuredly looke for
his ouerthrow, and for his owne consequently, if he did not redeme his
former treason to Basilius, with a more treasonable falshood
toward Amphialus.
His chiefe
care therefore was, to find out among all sorts of Amphialus whom either like feare, tediousnes of
the siege, or
disco[n]tentment of some vnsatisfied ambitio[n] would make apt to dig
in the
same mine that he did: & some alredy of welthy weary folks, &
unconsta[n]t youths (who had not found such sudden successe as they had
promised the[m]selues) he had made stoupe to the lure. But of none he
made
so good account as of Artesia, sister to the late slain Ismenus,
&
the chiefe of six maids, who had trained out the Princesses to their
banket of miserie: so much did the sharpnes of her wit counteruaile (as
he thought) any other defects of her sex: for she had vndertaken that
dangerous practise by the persuasion of Cecropia; who assured
her that
the two princesses should be made away; & the[n] Amphialus
wold marry
her: which she was the apter to beleue, by some false persuasio[n] her
glas had giue[n] her of her own inco[m]parable excellencies, & by
the great fauor she knew he bare to
her brother Ismenus, which (like a self-flattering woma[n])
she conceiued
was done for her sake. But when she had atchieued her attempt, &
that she found the Princesses were so far fro[m] their intended death,
as
that the one of them was like to be her souereigne, & that neither
her seruice had woon of Amphialus much more the ordinary fauor,
nor her
ouer-large offring herself to a mind otherwise owed, had obteined a
loked-for acceptatio[n]; disdain to be disdained spite of a frustrate
hope, & percha[n]ce vnquenched lust-growne rage, made her vnquiet
thoughts find no other rest, but malice: which was increased by the
death of her brother, who[m] she iudged neither succoured against Philanax,
nor reueged vpon Philanax. But all these coles were wel
blowne by the co[m]pany she especially kept with Zelmane, all
this time of
her imprisonment. For finding her presence vncheerfull to the mourning Philoclea,
and contemned of the hie harted Pamela,
she spent her time
most with Zelmane. Who though at the first hardly broking the
instrument of their miserie, learning cunning in the schoole of
aduersitie, in time framed her selfe to yeeld her acceptable
intertainment.
For Zelmane,
when she had by that vnexpected mischief her bodie
imprisoned, her valure ouermastred, her wit beguiled, her desires
barred, her loue eclipsed; assured of euill, fearing worse, able to
knowe Philocleas misfortune, and not able to succour her, she
was a
great while, before the greatnes of her hart could descend to sorow,
but rather rose boyling vp in spight and disdain; Reason hardly making
Courage beleeue, that it was distressed: but as if the walles would be
afraid of her, so woulde her lookes shoote out threatning vpon them.
But the fetters of seruitude (growing heauier with wearing) made her
feele her case, and the little preuailing of repining: and then griefe
gat seate in her softned minde, making sweetenesse of passed comfortes
by due title claime teares of present discomfort: and since her fortune
made her able to helpe as litle as any bodie, yet to be able to waile
as much as any bodie; solitarie Sorrowe, with a continuall circle in
her selfe, going out at her owne mouth, to come in againe at her owne
eares. Then was the name of Philoclea
graued in the glas windowes, and
by the foolish idolatrie of affection, no sooner written, the[n]
adored;
& no sooner adored, the[n] pitied: al the wo[n]ted praises (she was
wont to giue vnto her) being now but figures of rethorick to amplifie
the
iniuries of misfortune; against which being alone, she woulde often
make inuectiue declamations, methodized onely by raging sorow.
But whe[n] Artesia
did insinuat herself into her acquaintance, she gaue
the gouernment of her courage to wit, & was co[n]tent to
familiarize
herselfe with her: so much the rather, as that she perceiued in her
certaine flawes of il-co[n]cealed discontentme[n]t. Insomuch that
whe[n] Zelmane
would sweete her mouth with the praises of the sisters, especially
setting forth their noble gratefulnes, in neuer forgetting
wel-intended seruices, & inuoking the iustice of the gods, not to
suffer such treasures to be wro[n]g-fully hidde[n], & somtimes with
a
kind vnkindnes, charging Artesia that she had ben abused to
abuse so
worthy perso[n]s: Artesia (though falsly) wold protest, that
she had bin
beguiled in it, neuer meaning other matter the recreatio[n]: & yet
withall (by alleaging how vngratefully she was dealt with) it was easie
to be seene, it was the vnrewarding, & not the euil employing her
seruice, which grieued her. But Zelmane (using her own bias to
bowle
neer the mistresse of her owne thoughtes) was content to lende her
beleefe, and withall, to magnifie her desert, if willingly she would
deliuer, whom vnwillingly she had imprisoned; leauing no argument which
might tickle ambition, or flatter reuenge. So that Artesia,
(pusht
forward by Clinias, and drawne onward by Zelmane) bound
her selfe to
that practise; wherin Zelmane (for her part) desired no more,
but to
haue armour and weapons brought into her chamber, not doubting,
therewith to perfourm any thing, how impossible soeuer, which longing
Loue can perswade, and inuincible Valour dare promise.
But Clinias
(whose faith could neuer comprehende the misteries of
Courage) perswaded Artesia, while he by corruptio[n] had drawn
the guard
of one gate, to open it (when he would appoint the time) to the enemie:
that she should impoyson Amphialus, which she might the easier
do,
because she her selfe had vsed to make the broaths, when Amphialus
(either wearied or wounded) did vse such diet. And al things alredy
were ready to be put in executio[n], when they thought best to breake
the
matter with the two excellent sisters, not doubting of their co[n]sent
in
a thing so behoofefull to the[m]selues: their reasons being, that the
Princesses knowing their seruice, might be sure to
preserue them from the fury of the entring souldiers: whereof Clinias
(euen so) could scarcely be sufficiently certaine: and withall, making
them priuie to their action, to binde them afterwardes to acknowledg
gratefulnes towards them. They went therefore at one time, when they
knewe them to be alone, Clinias to Philoclea, and Artesia
to Pamela:
and Clinias, with no fewe words, did set forth what an exploite
was
intended for her seruice. But Philoclea (in whose cleere minde
treason
could finde no hiding place) told him, that she would be glad, if he
could perswade her cosin to deliuer her, and that she would neuer
forgett his Seruice therin: but that she desired him to lay down any
such way of mischiefe, for that (for her part) she would rather yeeld
to perpetuall imprisonment, then consent to the destroying her cosin,
who (she knewe) loued her, though wronged her. This vnlooked-for
answere amazed Clinias, so that he had no other remedie in his
minde,
but to kneele downe to Philoclea, and beseech her to keep it
secrete,
considering that the intention was for her seruice: and vowing (since
she misliked it) to proceed no further therin. She comforted him with
promise of silence, which she perfourmed.
But that
little auayled: for Artesia hauing in like sort opened this
deuice to Pamela, she (in whose
mind Vertue gouerned with the scepter of Knowledge) hating so horrible
a wickednes, and streight iudging what was fitte to doo, Wicked woman
(said she) whose vnrepenting harte can find no way to amend treason,
but by treason: nowe the time is come, that thy wicked wiles haue
caught thy selfe in thine owne nette: as for me, let the Gods dispose
of me as shall please them; but sure it shall be no such way, nor
way-leader, by which I will come to libertie. This she spake something
with a lowder voice then she was woont to vse, so as Cecropia
heard the
noise; who was (sooner then Artesia imagined she would) come
vp, to
bring Pamela to a window, where she might see a notable
skirmish
happened in the Campe, as she thought, among themselues: and being a
cunning fisher in troubled waters, streight found by their voices and
gestures, there was some matter of consequence, which she desired Pamela
to tell her. Aske of her (said Pamela) &
learne to know,
that who do falshoode to their superiours, teach falshoode to their
inferiours. More she would not say. But Cecropia taking away
the
each-way guiltie Artesia, with feare of torture, gat of her
the whole
practise: so as Zelmane was the more closely imprisoned, and Clinias
(with the rest of his corrupted mates, according to their merites)
executed: For, as for Artesia, she was but lockt vp in her
chamber, Amphialus not consenting (for the loue he bare Ismenus)
that further
punishment should be laide vpon her.
CHAP.
15.
1 Proude Anaxius
breaketh through the besiegers. 2 His
welcome by
Amphialus. 3 The Musicke, 4 and loue-
song made to Philoclea. 5 The
sallie of Anaxius
and his on the Basilians, 6 backt by Amphialus,
7 beaten backe by three vnknowen Knightes. 8 The
Retraite of both sides.
Vt the noyse they hearde in the campe,
was occasioned by the famous
Prince
Anaxius, nephewe to
the Giant Euardes whom Pyrocles slew: A
Prince, of body excedingly strong; in armes so skilfull and fortunate,
as no man was thought to excel him; of courage that knew not how to
feare: partes worthie praise, if they had not bene guyded by pride, and
followed by vniustice. For, by a strange composition of minde, there
was no man more tenderly sensible in any thing offred to himselfe,
which in the farthest-fette construction, might be wrested to the name
of wro[n]g; no man, that in his own actions could worse distinguish
betwene Valour and Violence: So proud, as he could not abstaine from a Thraso-like
boasting, and yet (so vnluckie a lodging his vertues had
gotten) he would neuer boast more then he would accomplish: falsly
accounting an vnflexible anger, a couragious constancie: esteeming
feare, and astonishment, righter causes of admiration, then Loue and
Honour. This man had foure sundrie times fought with Amphialus,
but
Mars had bene so vnpartiall an arbiter, that neither side gate
aduauntage of the other. But in the end it hapned, that Anaxius found
Amphialus (vnknowen) in a great danger, and saued his life:
wherupon
(louing his owne benefite) began to fauour him, so much the more, as,
thinking so well of himselfe, he
coulde not choose but like him, whom he founde a match for himselfe:
which at last grewe to as much friendship towardes him, as could by a
proud harte be conceiued. So as in this trauaile (seeking Pyrocles to
be reuenged of his vncles death) hearing of this siege, neuer taking
paines to examine the quarrell (like a man whose will was his God, and
his hand his lawe) taking with him his two brothers (men accounted
little inferiour to him selfe in martiall matters) and two hundred
chosen horsemen (with whome he thought him selfe able to conquere the
world) yet commaunding the rest of his forces to follow, he him selfe
vpon such an vnexpected suddainenesse entred in vpon the backe of Basilius,
that many with great vnkindnesse tooke their
death, not
knowing why, nor how they were so murdred. There, if euer, did he make
knowne the wonderfulnes of his force. But the valiant, & faithfull Philanax,
with
wel gouerned speed made such
head against him, as would
haue shewed, how soone Courage falles in the ditch which hath not the
eie of Wisdome: but that Amphialus at the same time issued out,
&
winning with an abondaunce of courage one of the sconses, which Basilius
had builded, made waie for his friend Anaxius with
great losse
of both sides, but especially of the Basilians; such notable
monuments
had those two swords especially lefte of their Maisters redoubted
worthynesse.
There with the respect fit to his estate, the honour
dewe to his
worthinesse, and the kindnesse which accompanies friendship (made fast
by enterchaunged benefites) did Amphialus enforce him selfe (as
much as
in a besieged towne he could) to make Anaxius know, that his
succour
was not so needefull, as his presence gratefull. For causing the
streates and houses of the towne to witnes his welcome (making both
souldiers and Magistrates in their countenaunces to shewe their
gladnesse of him) he led him to his mother, whom he besought to
entertain him with no lesse loue and kindnesse, then as one, who once
had saued her sonnes life, and now came to saue both life and honour.
Tush (said Anaxius, speaking alowde, looking vpon his brothers)
I am
onely sorie there are not halfe a dozen Kinges more about you: that
what Anaxius can doo, might be the better manifested. His
brothers
smiled, as though he had ouer-modestly spoken farre vnderneath the
pitch of his power. Then was he disarmed at the earnest request of Amphialus:
for Anaxius boiled with desire to issue out vppon the enemies,
perswading
himselfe, that the Sunne shoulde not be sette, before he had
ouerthrowne them. And hauing reposed himselfe, Amphialus asked
him,
whether he woulde visite the yong Princesses. But Anaxius whispered
him
in the eare: In trueth (saide he) deare friende Amphialus,
though I am
none of those, that loue to speake of themselues, I neuer came yet in
companie of Ladies, but that they fell in loue with me. And I that in
my hart scorne them as a peeuish paltrie sexe, not woorthie to
communicate with my vertues, would not do you the wrong: since (as I
heare) you doo debase your selfe so much as to affect them. The
curteous Amphialus could haue beene angrie with him for those
wordes;
but knowing his humour, suffered him to daunce to his owne musicke:
and gaue himselfe to entertaine both him and his brothers, with as
cheerefull a maner, as coulde issue from a minde whome vnluckie loue
had filled with melancholie. For to Anaxius he yeelded the
direction of
all. He gaue the watchwoorde, and if any grace were graunted, the
meanes were to be made to Anaxius. And that night when supper
was
ended, wherein Amphialus woulde needes himselfe waite vpon him,
he
caused in Boates vpon the Lake an excellent musicke to be ordered:
which, though Anaxius might conceiue was for his honour, yet
indeede he
was but the Bricke-wall to conuey it to the eares of the beloued Philoclea.
The musicke
was of Cornets, whereof one aunswering the other, with a
sweete emulation, striuing for the glorie of musicke, and striking vpon
the smooth face of the quiet Lake, was then deliuered vp to the castell
walles, which with a proude reuerberation, spreading it into the aire;
it seemed before the harmonic came to the eare, that it had enriched it
selfe in trauaile, the nature of those places adding melodie to that
melodious instrument. And when a while that instrument had made a braue
proclamation to all vnpossessed mindes of attention, an excellent
consort streight followed of fiue Violles, and as manie voyces; which
all being but Oratours of their maisters passions, bestowed this song
vppon her, that thought vppon another matter.
THe
Fire to see my woes for anger burneth:
The Aire in raine for my
affliction weepeth:
The Sea to ebbe for griefe his flowing turneth:
The
Earth with pitie dull his center turneth.
Fame is with wonder blazed:
Time runnes away for sorrow:
Place standeth still amazed.
To see my night of ils, which hath no morrowe.
Alas all onely she no pitie taketh
To know my miseries, but chaste and cruell
My fall her glory maketh;
Yet still her eyes giue to my flames their fuell.
Fire, burne me quite till sense of burning leaue me'
Aire, let me drawe
thy breath no more in anguish:
Sea, drown'd in thee of tedious life
bereaue me:
Earth, take this earth wherein my spirits languish.
Fame, say I was not borne:
Time, hast my dying hower:
Place, see my graue vptorne:
Fire, aire, sea, earth, fame, time, place show your power.
Alas from all their helpe I am exiled:
For hers am I, and Death feares her displeasure.
Fie Death thou art beguiled:
Though I be hers, she sets by me no treasure,
But Anaxius (seeming a weary before it was
ended) told Amphialus, that
for his part he liked no
musick, but the neighing of
horses, the sound
of trumpets, and the cries of yeelding persons: and therefore desired,
that the next morning they shoulde issue vpon the same place, where
they had entred that day, not doubting to make them quickly a wearie of
being the besiegers of Anaxius. Amphialus, who had no
whit lesse
courage, though nothing blowne vp with pride, willingly condiscended:
and so the next morning (giuing false alarum to the other side of the
campe) Amphialus at Anaxius earnest request, staying
within the towne
to see it garded, Anaxius and his brethren, Lycurgus,
and Zoilus,
sallied out with the best chosen men. But Basilius (hauing bene
the
last day somewhat vnprouided) now had better fortified the ouerthrowne
sconse; and so well had prepared euery thing for defence, that it was
impossible for any valour from within, to preuaile. Yet things were
perfourmed by Anaxius beyonde the credite of the credulous.
For thrise
(valiantly followed by his brothers) did he set vp his banner vpon the
rampire of the enemie: though thrise againe by the multitude, and
aduauntage of the place, but especially by the comming of three valiant
Knights, he were driuen downe againe. Nu[m]bers there were that day,
whose
deathes and ouerthrowes were executed by the well knowen sworde of Anaxius:
but the rest, by the length of time and iniurie of Historians,
haue bene wrapped vp in darke forgetfulnesse: onely Tressennius is
spoken of, because when all abandoned the place, hee onely made head to
Anaxius; till hauing lost one of his legs, yet not lost the
harte of
fighting, Lycurgus (second brother to Anaxius)
cruellie murthered him; Anaxius him selfe disdayning any
further to deale with him.
But so farre had Anaxius at the thirde time
preuayled, that now the Basilians began to let their
courage descende to their
feete, Basilius,
and Philanax in vaine striuing, with reuerence of authoritie to
bridle
the flight of astonishment, and to teach Feare discretion: so that Amphialus,
seeing Victorie shew such a flattering
countenaunce to him,
came out with all his force; hoping that day to end the siege.
But that fancie altered quicklie by the suddaine
comming to the other
side of three Knights, whereof the one was in white armour, the other
in greene, and the thirde by his blacke armour, and deuice streight
knowne to be the notable Knight, who the first day had giuen Fortune so
short a stoppe with his notable
deedes, and fighting hand to hand with the deemed inuincible Amphialus.
For the very cowardes no sooner saw him, but as borrowing some of his
spirit, they went like yong Eagles to the pray, vnder the wing of their
damme. For the three aduenturers, not content to keepe them from their
rampier, leapt downe among them, and entered into a braue combate with
the three valiaunt brothers. But to whether side Fortune woulde haue
beene partiall, could not be determined. For the Basilians,
lightened
with the beames of these straungers valure; followed so thicke, that
the Amphialians were glad with some haste to retire to the
walles
warde: though Anaxius neither reason, teare, nor example,
coulde make
him asswage the furie of his fight: vntill one of the Basilians (vnwoorthie
to haue his name registred, since he did it cowardly, sidewarde, when
he least looked that way) almost cut off one of his legges: so as he
fell downe, blaspheming heauen, that all the influences thereof had
power to ouerthrow him; and there death would haue seazed of his proude
hart, but that Amphialus tooke in hand the blacke knight, while
some of
his souldiers conueied away Anaxius, so requiting life for life
vnto
him.
And for the
loue and example of Amphialus, the fight began to
enter into a new fitte of heate: when Basilius (that thought
inough to
be done for that day) caused retraite to be sounded; fearing least his
men following ouer-hastily, might bee the losse of those excellent
Knights whom he desired to knowe. The Knights as soone as they heard
the retraite (though they were eagerly set, knowing that courage
without discipline is nearer beastlinesse then manhood) drew backe
their swords, though hungrie of more blood: especially the blacke
Knight, who, knowing Amphialus, could not refraine to tell him,
that
this was the second time he escaped out of his hands, but that he would
shortly bring him a bill of all the former accounts. Amphialus
seing it
fit to retire also (most of his people being hurt, both in bodies and
harts) withdrew himselfe, with so well seated a resolution, that it was
as farre from anger, as from dismayednesse; answering no other to the
blacke Knights threats, but that when he brought him his account, he
should finde a good pay-master.
CHAP.
16.
1 The vnknowne Knights will
not be knowne. 2 The Knight
of the Tombes
shew, 3 and challenge accepted by Amphia-
lus. 4 Their fight, with the
death of the Tombe-knight.
5 Who that Knight was. 6 The dying
speeches,
and 7 the
lamentable funerals.
He fight being ceased, and ech side
withdrawne within
their strengthes, Basilius sent Philanax to entertaine
the straunge
Knights, and to bring them vnto him, that he might acknowledge what
honour was due to their vertue. But they excused
themselues, desiring to be knowne first by their deedes, before their
names should accuse their vnworthinesse: and though the other replied
according as they deserued, yet (finding that vnwelcome curtesie is a
degree of iniury) he suffered them
to retire themselues to a tent
of
their owne without the campe, where they kept themselues secrete: Philanax
himselfe being called away to another straunge
Knight;
straunge not onely by the vnlookedfornesse of his comming, but by the
straunge maner of his comming.
For he had before him foure damosels, and so many
behind him, all vpon
palfreys, & all appareled in mourning weedes; ech of them seruants
of ech side, with like liueries of sorrow. Himselfe in an armour, all
painted ouer with such a cunning of shadow, that it represented a
gaping sepulchre, the furniture of his horse was all of Cypresse
braunches; wherwith in olde time they were woont to dresse graues. His
Bases (which he ware so long, as they came almost to his ankle) were
imbrodered onely with blacke wormes, which seemed to crawle vp and
downe, as readie alreadie to deuoure him. In his shielde for Impresa,
he had a beautifull childe, but hauing two heades; whereof the one
shewed, that it was alreadie dead: the other aliue, but in that case,
necessarily looking for death. The word was, No way to be rid from
death, but by death.
This Knight of the tombe (for so the souldiours
termed him) sent to Basilius, to demaund leaue to send in a
damosel into the
towne, to cal
out Amphialus, according as before time some others had done.
Which
being grated (as glad any would vndertake the charge, which no bodie
else in that campe was knowne willing to do) the damosell went in, and
hauing with tears sobbed out a braue chalenge to Amphialus,
from the
Knight of the Tombe, Amphialus,
honourably enterteining the
gentlewoman, & desiring to know the Knights name (which the
doolefull Gentlewoman would not discouer) accepted the chalenge, onely
desiring the Gentlewoman to say thus much to the strange Knight, from
him; that if his minde were like to his title, there were more cause of
affinitie, then enmitie betweene them. And therefore presently
(according as he was woont) as soone as he perceyued the Knight of the
Tombe, with his Damosels and Iudge, was come into the Iland, he also
went ouer in accustomed maner: and yet for the curtesie of his nature,
desired to speake with him.
But the
Knight of the Tombe, with
silence, and drawing his horse backe, shewed no will to heare, nor
speake: but with Launce on thigh, made him knowe, it was fitte for him
to go to the other ende of the Career, whence wayting the starte of the
unknowne Knight, he likewise made his spurres claime haste of his
horse. But when his staffe was in his rest, comming downe to meete with
the Knight, nowe verie neere him, he perceyued the Knight had mist his
rest: wherefore the curteous Amphialus woulde not let his
Launce
descende, but with a gallant grace, ranne ouer the heade of his
there-in friended enemie: and hauing stopped his horse, and with the
turning of him, blessed his sight with the Windowe where he thought Philoclea
might stand, he perceyued the Knight had lighted from his
horse, and throwne away his staffe, angrie with his misfortune, as
hauing mist his rest, and drawne his sworde to make that supply his
fellowes fault. He also lighted, and drew his sworde,
esteeming victorie by
aduantage, rather robbed
then purchased: and so the other comming eagerly toward him, he with
his shield out, and sword aloft, with more brauerie then anger, drew
vnto him; and straight made their swords speake for them a pretie while
with equall fearcenes. But Amphialus (to whom the earth brought
forth
few matches) hauing both much more skill to choose the places, and more
force to worke vpon the chosen, had already made many windowes in his
armour for death to come in at; whe[n] (the noblenes of his nature
abhorring to make the punishment ouergoe the offence) he slept a little
backe, and withal, Sir Knight (said he) you may easely see, that it
pleaseth God to fauour my cause; employ your valour against them that
wish you hurte: for my part, I haue not deserued hate of you. Thou
lyest false traytor, saide the other, with an angrie, but weake voyce.
But Amphialus,
in whome abused kindnesse became spitefull rage, Ah
barbarous wretch (said hee) onely couragious in discourtesie; thou
shalt soone see whether thy toonge hath betrayed thy harte, or no: and
with that, redoubling his blowes, gaue him, a great wounde vpon his
necke, and closing with him ouerthrew him, and with the fall thrust him
mortally into the bodie: and with that went to pull off his helmet,
with intention to make him giue himselfe the lye, for hauing so saide,
or to cut off his head.
But the
head-peece was no sooner off, but that there fell about the
shoulders of the ouercome Knight the treasure of faire golden haire,
which with the face (soone knowne by the badge of excellencie)
witnessed that it was Parthenia, the vnfortunatelie vertuous
wife of Argalus: her beautie then euen in despight of the
passed sorrow, or
comming death, assuring all beholders, that it was nothing short of
perfection. For her exceeding faire eyes, hauing with continuall
weeping gotten a little rednesse about them; her roundy sweetly
swelling lippes a little trembling, as though they kissed their
neighbour death; in her cheekes the whitenesse striuing by little and
little to get vpon the rosinesse of them; her necke, a necke indeed of
Alablaster, displaying the wounde, which with most daintie blood
laboured to drowne his owne beauties; so as here was a riuer of purest
redde, there an Iland of perfittest white, each giuing lustre to the
other; with the sweete countena[n]ce (God-knowes) full of an vnaffected
languishing: though these thinges to a grosly conceauing sense might
seeme disgraces; yet indeed were they but apparailing beautie in a new
fashion, which all looked-vpon thorough the spectacles of pittie, did
eue[n] encrease the lynes of her naturall fairenes, so as Amphialus
was
astonished with griefe, compassion, & shame, detesting his fortune,
that made him vnfortunate in victory.
Therfore, putting off his headpeece & gauntlet;
kneeling down vnto
her, & with teares testifying his sorow, he offred his (by
himselfe
accursed) hands to helpe her: protesting his life and power to be
readie to doo her honour. But Parthenia (who had inward
messingers of
the desired deathes approch) looking vpon him, and streight turning
away her feeble sight, as from a delightlesse obiect, drawing out her
wordes, which her breath (loath to parte from so sweete a bodie) did
faintly deliuer, Sir (saide she) I pray you (if prayers haue place in
enemies) to let my maides take my body vntouched by you: the onely
honour I now desire by your meanes, is, that I haue no honour of you. Argalus
made no such bargaine with you, that the hands which killed
him, shoulde helpe me. I haue of them (and I doo not onely pardon you,
but thanke you for it) the seruice which I desired. There rests nothing
now, but that I go liue with him, since whose death I haue done nothing
but die.
Then pawsing, and a little fainting, and againe comming to herselfe, O
sweete life, welcome (saide she) nowe feele I the bandes vntied of the
cruell death, which so long hath helde me. And O life, O death,
aunswere for me, that my thoughts haue not so much as in a dreame
tasted any comfort; since they were depriued of Argalus. I
come, my Argalus, I come: And, O God hide my faultes in thy
mercies, and graunt
(as I feele thou doost graunt) that in thy eternall loue, we may loue
eche other eternally. And this O Lorde: But there Atropos cut
off her
sentence: for with that, casting vp both eyes and hands to the skies,
the noble soule departed (one might well assure himselfe) to heauen,
which left the bodie in so heauenly a demeanure.
But Amphialus (with a hart oppressed with
griefe, because of her
request) withdrewe himselfe, but the Iudges, as full of pitie, had bene
al this while disarming her, and her gentlewomen with lamentable cries,
laboring to stanch the remediles wounds: & a while she was dead
before they perceiued it; death being able to diuide the soul, but not
the beauty fro[m] that body. But whe[n] the infallible tokens of death
assured the[m] of their losse, one of the women would haue killed her
selfe, but that the squire of Amphialus
perceauing it, by force held
her. Others that had as strong passions, though weaker resolution, fell
to cast dust vpon their heads, to teare their garments: all falling
vpon, and crying vpon their sweet mistres; as if their cries could
perswade the soul to leaue the celestiall happines, to come again into
the eleme[n]ts of sorrow: one time calling to remembrance her vertue,
chastnes, sweetnes, goodnes to them: another time accusing
themselu[e]s,
that they had obeyed her, they hauing bene deceaued by her words, who
assured the, that it was reuealed vnto her, that she should haue her
harts desire in the battaile against Amphialus, which they
wrongly vnderstood. Then kissing her cold hands and feet, wearie of the
world,
since she was gone, who was their world. The very heauens semed, with a
cloudie countenance, to loure at the losse, and Fame it selfe (though
by nature glad to tell rare accidents, yet) could not choose but
deliuer it in lamentable accents, & in such sort went it quickly
all
ouer the Campe: &, as if the aire had bene infected with sorow, no
hart was so hard, but was subiect to that contagion; the rarenes of the
accident,
matching together (the rarely matched together) pittie with admiration,
Basilius himselfe came foorth, and brought foorth the faire
Gynecia
with him, who was gone into the campe vnder colour of visiting her
husband, and hearing of her daughters: but indeed Zelmane was
the
Sainct, to which her pilgrimage was entended: cursing, enuying,
blessing, and in her harte kissing the walles which imprisoned her. But
both they with Philanax, and the rest of the principall
Nobilitie, went
out, to make Honour triumph ouer Death, conueying that excellent body
(wherto Basilius himself would needes bend his shoulder) to a
church a
mile from the campe, where the valiant Argalus lay intombed;
recommending to that sepulchre, the blessed reliques of faithfull and
vertuous Loue: giuing order for the making of marble images, to
represent them, & each way enriching the tombe. Vpon which, Basilius
himself caused this Epitaphe to be written.
[blank box in source text]
CHAP.
17.
1 The remorse of
Amphialus for his last deede, and lasting de-
stinie. 2
His reuerent respect in loue. 3 His mothers gho-
sty counsell to a rape.
Hen with eyes full of teares, and
mouthes full of her
prayses, returned they to the campe, with more and more
hate against Amphialus:
who (poore Gentleman) had therfore greater
portion of
woe,
then any of them. For that courteous harte, which would haue grieued
but to haue heard the like aduenture, was rent with remembring himselfe
to be the author: so that his wisdome could not so farre temper his
passion, but that he tooke his sword, counted the best in the world
(which with much bloud he had once conquered of a mightie Giant) and
brake it into many peeces (which afterwardes he had good cause to
repent) saying, that neither it was worthie to serue the noble exercise
of chiualrie, nor any other worthie to feel that sword, which had
stroken so excellent a Ladie: & withall, banishing all cheerfulnes
of his countenance, he returned home. Where he gate him to his bed, not
so much to rest his restles minde, as to auoyd all companie, the sight
whereof was tedious vnto him. And then melancholic (onely riche in
vnfortunate remembrances) brought before him all the mishappes, with
which his life had wrestled: taking this, not onely as a confirming of
the former, but a presage of following miserie; and to his harte
(alredie ouercome by sorrowfulnes) euen trifling misfortunes came, to
fill vp the rolle of a grieued memorie, labouring onely his wittes to
pearce farther and farther into his owne wretchednes. So all that night
(in despite of darkenes) he held his eyes open; and the morning when
the light began to restore to each body his colour, then with curtaines
barde he himselfe from the enioying of it: neither willing to feele the
comfort of the day, nor the ease of the night: vntill his mother (who
neuer knew what loue meant, but onely to himward) came to his bed side,
and beginning with louing earnestnes to lay a kinde chiding vpon him,
because he would suffer the weakenesse of sorow, to conquere the
strength of his vertues; he did with a broaken peecemeale speach (as if
the tempest of passion vnorderly blewe out his words) remember the
mishappes of his youth, the euils he
had bene cause of, his rebelling with Shame, and that shame increased
with shamefull accidents, the deaths of Philoxenus and Parthenia,
wherein he found himselfe hated of the euer-ruling powers, but
especially (and so especially, as the rest seemed nothing when he came
to that) his fatall loue to Philoclea:
to whom he had so gouerned
himselfe, as one that could neither conquere, nor yeeld; being of the
one side a slaue, and of the other a iaylor: and with all, almost
vp-brayding vnto his mother the little successe of her large hoping
promises, he in effect finding Philoclea nothing mollified, and
now
himselfe so cast downe, as he thought him vnworthy of better.
But his
mother (as she had plentifull cause) making him see, that of
his other griefes there was little or no faulte in him selfe, and
therefore there ought to be little or no griefe in him; when she came
to the head of the sore, indeed seeing that she could not patch vp her
former promises (he taking a desperate deafnesse to all delaying hopes)
she confest plainly, that she could preuaile nothing: but the faulte
was his owne, who had marred the yong Girle by seeking to haue that by
praier, which he should haue taken by authoritie. That as it were an
absurd cunning to make hie ladders to go in a plaine way; so was it an
vntimely and foolish flattery, there to beseech, where one might
commaund, puffing the vp[m] by being besought, with such a selfe-pride
of
superioritie, that it was not (forsooth) to be held out, but by a
denial. O God (said Amphialus) how wel I thought my fortune
would bring
forth this end of your labors? assure your self, mother, I will sooner
pull out these eies then they shal looke vpon the heauenly Philoclea,
but as vpo[n] a heaue[n], whence they haue their light, & to which
they
are subiect, if they
will power down any
influe[n]ces of co[m]fort, O
happy
I: but if by the sacrifice of a faithfull hart, they will not be called
vnto me, let me languish, & wither with languishing, & grieue
with withering, but neuer so much as repine with neuer so much
grieuing. Mother, ô Mother, lust may well be a tyrant, but
true-loue
where it is indeed, it is a seruant. Accursed more then I am, may I be,
if euer I did approch her, but that I friezed as much in a fearefull
reuerence, as I burned in a vehement desire. Did euer mans eye looke
thorough loue vpo[n] the maiesty of vertue, shining through beauty, but
that he became (as it wel became him) a captiue? & is it the stile
of a captiue, to write, Our will and pleasure?
Tush, tush sonne (said Cecropia)
if you say you loue, but withall you feare; you feare lest you should
offend; offend? & how know you, that you should offend? because she
doth denie: denie? Now by my truth; if your sadnes would let me laugh,
I could laugh hartily, to see that yet you are ignorant, that No, is no
negatiue in a womans mouth. My sonne, beleeue me, a woma[n], speaking
of women: a louers modesty among
us is much more praised, then liked: or if we like it, so well we like
it,
that for marring of his
modestie, he shall neuer proceed further.
Each vertue hath his time: if you com[m]and your souldier to march
formost, & he for curtesie put others before him, would you praise
his modesty? loue is your Generall: he bids you dare: & will Amphialus
be a dastard? Let examples seru[e:] doo you thinke Theseus should
euer haue gotten Antiope with sighing, and crossing his armes?
he rauished her, and rauished her that was an Amazon, and
therefore had
gotten a habite of stoutnes aboue the nature of a woman; but hauing
rauished her, he got a child of her. And I say no more, but that (they
say) is not gotten without consent of both sides. Iole had her
owne
father killed by Hercules, & her selfe rauished, by force
rauished,
& yet ere long this rauished, and vnfathered Lady could sportfully
put on the Lions skin vpon her owne faire shoulders, & play with
the clubbe with her owne delicate hands: so easily had she pardoned the
rauisher, that she could not but delight in those weapo[n]s of
rauishing.
But aboue all, mark Helen daughter to Iupiter, who
could neuer brooke
her manerly-wooing Menelaus, but disdained his humblenes, &
lothed
his softnes. But so well she could like the force of enforcing Paris,
that for him she could abide what might be abidden. But what? Menelaus
takes hart; he recouers her by force; by force carries her
home; by
force inioies her; and she, who could neuer like him for
seruiceablenesse, euer after loued him for violence. For what can be
more agreable, then vpon force to lay the fault of desire, and in one
instant to ioyne a deare delight with a iust excuse? or rather the
true cause is (pardon me ô woman-kinde for reuealing to mine owne
sonne
the truth of this mystery) we thinke there wants fire, where we find no
sparkles at lest of furie.
Truly I haue knowen a great Lady, long sought by most great, most wise,
most beautifull, most valiant persons; neuer wonne; because they did
ouer-suspiciously sollicite her: the same Ladie brought vnder by an
other, inferiour to all them in all those qualities, onely because he
could vse that imperious maisterfulnesse, which nature giues to men
aboue women. For indeede (sonne, I confesse vnto you) in our very
creatio[n] we are seruants: and who prayseth his seruaunts shall neuer
be
well obeyed: but as a ready horse streight yeeldes, when he findes one
that will haue him yeelde; the same fals to boundes when he feeles a
fearefull horseman. Awake thy spirits (good Amphialus) and
assure thy
selfe, that though she refuseth, she refuseth but to endeere the
obtaining. If she weepe, and chide, and protest, before it be gotten,
she can but weepe, and chide, and protest, when it is gotte. Thinke,
she would not striue, but that she meanes to trie thy force: and my Amphialus,
know thy selfe a man, and shew thy selfe a man:
and (beleeue
me vpon my word) a woman is a woman.
1 The forsaken
Knights defie. 2 Amphialus answere. 4 The
one 3 and others
armour and imprese. 5 The issue of their
quarrell. 6 Their heroicall
monomachy on horse, 7 and
foot. 8 Their breathings, 9 &
reencounters. 10 Amphia-
lus rescued by Anaxius brethren, the
Blacke
Knight by
the greene and white. 11 The supply of both
sides to cary a-
way the breathles Knights. 12 The
Blackknights grieues.
Mphialus
was aboute to answere her, when a Gentlema[n] of his made him
vnderstande, that there was a messenger come, who had brought a letter
vnto him from out of the campe: whom he presently calling for, tooke,
opened, and read the letter, importing this.
TO thee Amphialus of Arcadia,
the forsaken Knight wisheth I health, and
courage, that by my hand
thou maiest receyue
punishment for thy
treason, according to thine owne offer, which wickedly occasioned, thou
haste proudly begun, and accursedly mainteyned. I will presently (if
thy minde faint thee not for his owne
guiltinesse) meete thee in thy Iland, in such order, as hath by the
former beene vsed: or if thou likest not the time, place, or weapon, I
am ready to take thine owne reasonable chaise in any of them; so as
thou do perfourme the substaunce. Make me such answere as may shew that
thou hast some taste of honour: and so I leaue thee, to liue till I
meete thee.
Amphialus read it, and with a deepe
sigh (according to the
humour of
inward affection) seemed euen to co[n]demne him selfe, as though indeed
his reproches were true. But howsoeuer the dulnes of Melancholy would
haue languishingly yeelded thereunto, his Courage (vnused to such
iniuries) desired helpe of Anger to make him this answere.
FOrsaken
Knight, though your namelesse
challenge might carry in it selfe excuse for a man of my birth
and estate, yet herein set
your harte at rest, you shall not be forsaken. I will without stay
answere you in the woonted manner, and come both armed in your foolish
threatnings, and yet the more fearelesse, expecting weake blowes, where
I finde so strong wordes. You shall not therefore long attende me in
the Ilande, before proofe teache you, that of my life you haue made
your selfe too large a promise. In the meane time, Farewell.
This being
written, and
deliuered, the messenger tolde him, that his Lord would (if he liked
the same) bring two Knights with him to be his Patrons. Which Amphialus
accepted, and withall shaking of (with resolution) his mothers
importunate disswasions, he furnished him selfe for the fight: but not
in his wonted furniture. For now (as if he would turne his inside
outwarde) he would needes appeare all in blacke; his decking both for
him selfe, and horse, being cut out into the fashion of very ragges:
yet all so dainty, ioyned together with pretious stones, as it was a
braue raggednesse, and a riche pouertie: and so cunningly had a
workeman followed his humour in his armour, that he had giuen it a
rustie shewe, and yet so, as any man might perceiue was by arte, and
not negligence; carying at one instant a disgraced handsomnesse, and a
new oldnes. In his shield he bare for his deuise, a Night, by an
excellently painter, with a Sunne with a shadow, and vpon the shadow
with a speech signifying, that it onely was barrd from inioying
that,
whereof it had his life: or, From whose I am bannished. In
his creste he
caried Philocleas kniues, the onely token of her forwarde
fauour.
So past he ouer into the and, taking with him the
two brothers of Anaxius; where he founde the forsaken Knight,
attired in his owne
liuerie, as blacke, as sorrowe it selfe could see it selfe in the
blackest glasse: his ornaments of the same hew, but formed in the
figure of Rauens, which seemed to gape for carrion: onely his raynes
were snakes, which finely wrapping themselues one within the other,
their heads came together to the cheekes and bosses of the bit, where
they might seeme to bite at the horse, and the horse (as he champte the
bit) to bite at them; and that the white foame was ingendred by the
poysonous furie of the combatt. His Impresa was a Catoblepta
which so
long lies dead, as the Moone (whereto it hath so naturall a sympathie)
wants her light. The worde signified that The Moone wanted not the
light, but the poore beast wanted the Moones light. He had in his
headpiece, a whippe, to witnesse a selfe-punishing repentaunce. Their
very horses were cole-blacke too, not hauing so much as one starre to
giue light to their night of blackenesse: so as one would haue thought
they had bene the two sonnes of Sorrow, and were come thether to fight
for their birth-right in that sorie inheritance.
Which
aliance of passions so moued Amphialus (alredy tender-minded
by
the afflictions of Loue) that without staffe or sword drawne, he
trotted fairely to the forsake[n] Knight, willing to haue put off his
combat, to which his melancholy hart did (more then euer in like
occasion) misgiue him: and therefore saluting him, Good Knight (said
he) because we are men, and should knowe reason why we doo things; tell
me the cause, that makes you thus eager to fight with me. Because I
affirme (answered the forsaken Knight) that thou dost most rebellious
iniurie to those Ladies, to whome all men owe seruice. You shall not
fight with me (saide Amphialus) vpon that quarrell: for I
confesse the
same too: but it proceeds from their owne beauty, to inforce Loue to
offer this force. I maintaine then (said the forsaken Knight) that thou
art not worthy so to loue. And that confesse I too (saide Amphialus)
since the world is not so richly blessed, as to bring forth any thing
worthy thereof. But no more vnworthy then any other, since in none can
be a more worthy
loue. Yes, more vnworthy then my self (said the forsaken Knight) for
though I deserue contempt, thou deseruest both contempt, and hatred.
But Amphialus
by that thinking
(though wrongly, each indeede mistaking other) that he was his riuall,
forgat all minde of reconciliation, and hauing all his thoughts bou[n]d
vp
in choler, neuer staying either iudge, tru[m]pet, or his owne lau[n]ce,
drew
out his sword, & saying, Thou lyest false villaine, vnto him; his
words & blowes came so quick togither, as the one seemed a
lightning of the others thu[n]der. But he fou[n]d no barre grou[n]d of
such
seede: for it yeelded him his owne with such encrease, that though
Reason and Amazement go rarely togither, yet the most reasonable eies
that saw it, founde reason to be amazed at the fury of their combat.
Neuer game of death better plaid; neuer fury set it self forth in
greater brauerie. The curteous Vulcan, whe[n] he wrought at his
nowe more
curteous wiues request, Æneas an armour, made not his
hammer beget a
greater sounde; then the swordes of those noble Knights did; they
needed no fire to their forge; for they made the fire to shine at the
meeting of their swords, & armours; ech side fetching new spirit
from the castle window, and careful of keeping their sight, it was a
matter of greater consideration in their combat, then either the
aduantage of Sun or winde: which Sunne and wind (if the astonished eies
of the beholders were not by the astonishment deceiued) did both stand
still to be beholders of this rare match. For neither could their
amazed eies discerne motion in the Sunne, and no breath of wind
stirred, as if either for feare it would not come amo[n]g such blows,
or
with delight had his eies so busie, as it had forgot to open his mouth.
This fight being the more cruell, since both Loue and Hatred conspired
to sharpen their humours, that hard it was to say, whether Loue with
one trumpet, or Hatred with another, gaue the lowder alarum to their
courages. Spite, rage, disdaine, shame, reuenge, came waighting vpon
Hatred: of the other side came with loue-longing Desire, both
inuincible Hope, and fearelesse Despaire, with riuallike Iealousie,
which (although brought vp within doores in the schoole of Cupid)
woulde shewe themselues no lesse forwarde, then the other dustie bande
of Mars, to make themselues notable in the notablenes of this
combat. Of eyther side Confidence, vnacquainted with
Losse, but assured trust to ouercome, and good experience howe to
ouercome: nowe seconding their terrible blowes with cunning labouring
the horses, to winne ground of the enimie; now vnlooked-for parting one
from the other, to win aduantage by an aduantageous retourne. But force
against force, skill against skill, so enterchangeably encountred, that
it was not easie to determine, whether enterprising, or preuenting came
former: both, sometimes at one instant, doing and suffring wrong, and
choller no lesse rising of the doing, then of the suffring. But as the
fire, the more fuell is put to it, the more hungrie still it is to
deuoure more: so the more they strake, the more vnsatisfied they were
with striking. Their verie armour by piecemeale fell away from them:
and yet their flesh abode the wounds constantly, as though it were
lesse sensible of smarte, then the senselesse armour: their blood in
most places stayning the blacke, as if it would giue a more liuely
coulour of mourning, then blacke can doo. And so a long space they
fought, while neither vertue, nor fortune seemed partiall of either
side: which so tormented the vnquiet hart of Amphialus, that he
resolued to see a quicke ende: and therefore with the violence of
courage, adding strength to his blow, he strake in such wise vpon the
side of the others heade, that his remembrance left that battered
lodging: so as he was quite from himselfe, casting his armes abroade,
and redie to fall downe; his sword likewise went out of his hande; but
that being fast by a chaine to his arme, he could not loose. And Amphialus
vsed the fauour of occasion, redoubling his
blowes: but the
horse (weary to be beaten, as well as the master) carried his master
away, till he came vnto himselfe: But then who could haue seene him,
might wel haue discerned shame in his cheekes, and reuenge in his eyes:
so as setting his teeth togither with rage, he came running vpon Amphialus,
reaching out his arme, which had gathered vp the
sword,
meaning with that blow to haue cleaued Amphialus in two. But Amphialus
seeing the blow comming, shunned it with nimble turning his horse
aside; wherwith the forsaken Knight ouer-strake himself so, as almost
he came downe with his owne strength. But the more hungrie he was of
his purpose, the more he was bard the food of it: disdaining the
resistance, both of force, and fortune, he returned vpon the spurre
againe, and
ranne with such violence vpon Amphialus, that his horse with
the force
of the shocke rose vp before, almost ouerturned: which Amphialus
perceauing, with rayne and spurre put forth his horse; and withall gaue
a mightie blow in the descent of his horse, vpon the shoulder of the
forsaken Knight; from whence sliding, it fell vpon the necke of his
horse, so as horse and man fell to the ground: but he was scarce downe
before he was vp on his feete againe, with braue gesture shewing rising
of corage, in the falling of fortune.
But the
curteous Amphialus excused
himselfe, for hauing (against his will) kild his horse. Excuse thy
selfe for viler faults (answered the forsaken Knight) and vse this
poore aduantage the best thou canst; for thou shalt quickely finde thou
hast neede of more. Thy folly (said Amphialus)
shall not make me forget
my selfe: and therewith (trotting a little aside) alighted from his
horse, because he would not haue fortune come to claime any part of the
victory. Which curteous act would haue mollified the noble harte of the
forsaken Knight, if any other had done it, besides the Iaylor of his
mistres: but that was a sufficient defeazaunce for the firmest bonde of
good nature; and therfore he was no sooner alighted, but that he ranne
vnto him, re-entring into as cruel a fight, as eye did euer see, or
thought could reasonably imagine; farre beyond the reach of weak words
to be able to expresse it. For what they had done on horsebacke, was
but as a morsell to keep their stomakes in appetite, in comparison of
that, which now (being themselues) they did. Nor euer glutton by the
cha[n]ge of daintie diet could be brought to fetch feeding (when he
might
haue bene satisfied before) with more earnestnes, then those (by the
change of their maner of fight) fell cleane to a new fight, though any
else would haue thought they had had their fill alredy. Amphialus being
the taller man, for the most part stood with his right legge before;
his shield at the vttermost length of his arme; his sword hie, but with
the point toward his enemy. But whe[n] he strake, which came so thick,
as
if euery blow would striue to be foremost, his arme seemed still a
postillion of death. The forsaken Knight shewed with like skil, vnlike
gesture, keeping himselfe in continual motion, proportioning the
distance betweene the[m] to any thing that Amphialus attempted:
his eye guided his foote, and his foote conueighed his hand;
and since nature had made him something the lower of the two, he made
art follow, and not striue with nature: shunning rather the[n] warding
his
blowes; like a cun[n]ing mastiffe, who knowes the sharpnes of the
horne,
and stre[n]gth of the Bul; fights low to get his proper adua[n]tage;
answering mightines with nimblenes, and yet at times imploying his
wonderfull force, wherein he was seconde to none. In summe, the blowes
were stronge, the thrusts thicke, and the auoydings cunning. But the
forsaken Knight (that thought it a degree of being co[n]quered to be
long
in conquering) strake so mightie a blow, that he made Amphialus put
knee to the ground, without any humblenes. But when he felt himselfe
striken downe, and saw himselfe striken downe by his riuall, then shame
seemed one arme, and disdaine another; fury in his eyes, and reuenge in
his hart; skill and force gaue place, & they tooke the place of
skil & force: with so vnweariable a manner, that the forsaken
Knight was also driuen to leaue the streame of cunning, and giue
himselfe wholly to be guided by the storme of fury: there being in both
(because hate would not suffer admiration) extreame disdaine to finde
themselues so matched.
What (said Amphialus
to himselfe) am I Amphialus, before whom so many
monsters & Gyants haue falne dead, when I onely sought causelesse
aduentures? and can one Knight now withstand me in the presence of Philoclea,
and fighting for Philoclea? or since I
lost my liberty,
haue I lost my courage? haue I gotten the hart of a slaue, as well as
the fortune? If an armie were against me in the sight of Philoclea,
could it resist me? O beast, one man resistes thee; thy ryuall resists
thee: or am I indeed Amphialus? haue not passions kild him, and
wretched I (I know not how) succeeded into his place? Of the other
side the forsaken Knight with no lesse spite, fel out with himself;
Hast thou broke[n] (said he to himselfe) the com[m]a[n]deme[n]t of thy
only
Princesse to come now into her prese[n]ce, & in her prese[n]ce to
proue
thy self a coward? Doth Asia and Ægypt set vp
Trophes vnto thee, to be
matched here by a traytor? O noble Barsanes, how shamed will
thy soule
be, that he that slew thee, should be resisted by this one man? O
incomparable Pyrocles, more grieued wilt thou be with thy
friends
shame, the[n] with thine owne imprisonment, when thou shalt know how
little I haue bene able to doo for the deliuerie of thee, and those
heauenlie Princesses. Am I worthie to be friend to the most valourous
Prince that euer was entituled valourous, and shewe my selfe so weake a
wretch? No, shamed Musidorus, worthie for nothing, but to keepe
sheepe,
get thee a sheephooke again, since thou canst vse a sword no better.
Thus at
times did they, now with
one thought, then with another, sharpen their ouer-sharpe humors; like
the Lion, that beates himselfe with his owne taile, to make himselfe
the more angrie. These thoughtes indeede not staying, but whetting
their angrie swordes, which now had put on the apparraile of Crueltie:
they bleeding so aboundantly, that euery bodie that sawe them, fainted
for them, & yet they fainted not in themselues: their smart being
more sensible to others eyes, then to their owne feeling: Wrath and
Courage barring the common sense from bringing any message of their
case to the minde: Paine, Wearines, and Weakenes, not daring to make
knowen their case (though already in the limits of death) in the
presence of so violent furie: which filling the veines with rage, in
stead of bloud, and making the minde minister spirites to the bodie, a
great while held out their fight, like an arrowe shotte vpward by the
force of the bowe, though by his owne nature he would goe downward. The
forsaken Knight had the more wounds, but Amphialus had the
soarer;
which the other (watchinge time and place) had coningly geuen vnto him.
Who euer saw a well-mand Galley fight with a tall ship, might make vnto
himselfe some kind of comparison of the difference of these two
Knights; a better couple then which, the world could not bragge of. Amphialus
seemed to excell in strength, the forsaken Knight
in
nimblenes; and yet did the ones strength excel in nimblenes, and the
others nimblenes excell in strength: but now, strength and nimblenes
were both gone, and excesse of courage only maintayned the fight. Three
times had Amphialus with
his mightie blowes driuen the forsaken Knight
to go staggering backwarde, but euery one of those times he requited
pain with smarte, and shame with repulse. And now, whether he had
cause, or that ouer-much confidence (an ouer-forward scholer of
vnconquered Courage) made him think he had cause, he bega[n] to
persuade
himself he had the adua[n]tage of the combat, though the aduantage he
toke
himselfe to haue, was onely that he should be the later to die: which
hopes,
Hate (as vnsecrete as Loue) could not conceale, but drawing himself a
little back fro[m] him, brake out in these maner of words.
Ah Amphialus
(said the forsaken knight) this third time thou shalt not
escape me, but thy death shall satisfie thy iniury, & my malice;
and pay for the cruelty thou shewedst in killing the noble Argalus,
& the fair Parthenia. In troth (said Amphialus)
thou art the best
knight that euer I fought withal, which would make me willing to graut
thee thy life, if thy wit were as good as thy corage; that (besides
other follies) layest that to my charge, which most against my will was
committed. But whether my death be in thy power, or no, let this tel
thee; And vpon the worde wayted a blow, which parted his shield into
two peeces; & despising the weak resistance of his alredie broke[n]
armor, made a great breach into his hart side, as if he would make a
passage for his loue to get out at.
But paine
rather seemed to increase life, then to weaken life in
those champions. For, the forsaken Knight comming in with his right
leg, and making it guide the force of the blow, strake Amphialus
vpon
the bellie, so horrible a wou[n]d, that his guts came out withall.
Which Amphialus perceauing (fearing death, onely because it
should
come with
ouerthrow) he seemed to coniure all his strength for one moments
seruice; and so, lifting vp his sword with both hands, hit the forsaken
knight vpo[n] the head, a blow, wherewith his sword brake. But (as if
it
would do a notable seruice before it died) it preuayled so, euen in the
instant of breaking, that the forsaken Knight fell to the ground, quite
for that instant forgetting both loue and hatred: and Amphialus
(finding him self also in such weaknes, as he loked for speedy death)
glad of the victorie, though little hoping to enioy it, puld vp his
visar, meaning with his dagger to giue him death; but in stead of
death, he gaue him life: for, the aire so reuiued his spirits, that
comming to himself, and seeing his present danger, with a life
conquering death, he tooke Amphialus by the thigh, &
together rose
himselfe, and ouerturned him. But Amphialus scrambled vp
againe, both
now so weake indeede, as their motions rather seemed the afterdrops to
a storme, then any matter of great furie.
But Amphialus might repent himselfe of his
wilfull breaking his good sword: for, the forsaken Knight (hauing with
the extremitie
of iustly-conceiued hate, and the vnpitifulnes of his owne
neere-threatning death, blotted out all complements of courtesie) let
flie at him so cruelly, that though the blowes were weake, yet weaknes
vpon a weakned subiect, proued such stre[n]gth, that Amphialus
hauing
attempted in vaine, once or twise to close with him, receauing wound
vpo[n] wound, sent his whole burden to strike the earth with falling,
since he could strike his foe no better in standing: geuing no other
tokens of himself, then as of a man euen ready to take his oath to be
Deathes true seruant.
Which when
the hardie brothers
of Anaxius perceaued, not recking law of armes, nor vse of
chiualrie,
they flew in to defende their friende, or reuenge their losse of him.
But they were foorthwith encountred with the two braue co[m]panions of
the
forsaken Knight; whereof the one being all in greene, both armour and
furniture, it seemed a pleasant garden, wherein grewe orange trees,
which with their golden fruites, cunningly beaten in, & embrodered,
greatly enriched the eye-pleasing colour of greene. In his shield was a
sheep, feeding in a pleasant field, with this word, Without feare,
or
enuie. And therfore was called the Knight of the sheep. The other
Knight was all in milke white, his attiring els, all cutte in starres,
which made of cloath of siluer, and siluer spangles, each way seemed to
cast many aspects. His deuice was the very Pole it selfe, about which
many starres stirring, but the place it selfe lefte voide. The word
was, The best place yet reserued. But these foure Knights,
inheriting
the hate of their friends, began a fierce combat: the forsaken Knight
himselfe not able to helpe his side, but was driuen to sit him downe,
with the extreame faintnesse of his more & more fainting body. But
those valiant couples seeking honour by dishonouring, and to build
safety vpon ruine, gaue new appetites, to the almost glutted eies of
the beholders: and now bloud began to put sweat from the full
possession of their outsides, no aduantage being yet to be seene; onely
the Knight of the sheepe seeming most deliuer, and affecting most all
that viewed him, when a company of souldiers sent by Cecropia,
came out
in boates to the Ilande: and all came running to the destruction of the
three Knights, whereof the one was vtterly vnable to defend himselfe.
But then did the other two Knights shewe their wonderfull courage, and
fidelitie. For turning backe to backe, and bothe
bestriding the blacke forsaken Knight (who had fainted so long till he
had lost the feeling of faintnesse) they helde playe against the rest,
though the two brothers vnknightly helped them; till Philanax
(who
watchfully attended such traiterous practises) sent likewise ouer, both
by boate and swimming, so choise a number as did put most of the other
to the sworde. Onely the two Brothers, with some of the brauest of
them, carrying away the body of Amphialus, which they would
rather haue
died, then haue left behind them.
So was the forsaken Knight (layed vpon clokes)
carried home to the
campe. But his two friends knowing his earnest desire
not to be knowen,
couering him from any bodies eyes, conueyed him to their owne tente: Basilius
himselfe conquering his earnest desire to see him,
with feare
to displease him, who had fought so notably in his quarrell. But Fame
set the honour vpon his backe, which he would not suffer to shine in
his face: no mans mouth being barrein of prayses to the noble Knight,
that had bettered the most esteemed Knight in the world: euery bodie
praying for his life, and thinking that therein they prayed for
themselues. But he him selfe, when by the diligent care of friends, and
well applied cunning of surgeons, he came to renewe againe the league
betweene his minde and body, then fell he to a freshe warre with his
owne thoughts, wrongfully condemning his manhood, laying cowardise to
him selfe, whome the impudentest backbiter would not so haue wro[n]ged.
For his courage (used to vse victory as an inheritaunce) could brooke
no resistance at any time: but now that he had promised him selfe, not
onely the conquest of him, but the scaling of the walles, and deliuery
of Pamela, though he had done beyond al others expectation, yet
so
short was he of his owne; that he hated to looke vpon the Sunne, that
had seene him do so weakely: and so much abhorred all visitation or
honour, whereof he thought him selfe vnworthy, that he besought his two
noble friends to carrie him away to a castle not far of, where he might
cure his wounds, and neuer be knowne till he made successe excuse this
(as he thought) want in him. They louingly obeyed him, leauing Basilius
and all the campe very sorrie for the parting of these three vnknowne
Knights, in whose prowesse they had reposed greatest trust of victory.
CHAP.
19.
l The state of the leaguer,
and beleaguered. 2 The agonies of
Amphialus. 3 The wit-craft of Cecropia, to
threaten
Basilius with the
three Ladies death. 4 Kalanders comp-
assion. 5 Philanax-his
counter-counsell. 6 The brea-
king vp the siege.
Vt they being gone, Basilius and
Philanax gaue good order to
the strengthning of the siege, fortifying
themselues, so as they feared
no more any such suddaine onset, as that of Anaxius. And they
within
(by reaso[n] of Anaxius hurt, but especially of Amphialus-his)
gaue
themselues onely to diligent watch & ward, making no sallies out,
but committing the principall trust to Zoilus and Lycurgus.
For Anaxius was yet forced to keepe his chamber. And as for Amphialus,
his body had
such wounds, and gaue such wounds to his mind, as easily it coulde not
be determined, whether death or he made the greater hast one to the
other: for when the diligent care of cunning surgeons, had brought life
to the possession of his owne right, Sorrowe and Shame (like two
corrupted seruaunts) came waiting of it, perswading nothing but the
giuing ouer of it selfe to destruction. They laide before his eyes his
present case, painting euery piece of it in moste ougly colours: they
shewed him his loue wrapped in despaire, his fame blotted by ouerthrow;
so that if before he languished, because he could not obtaine his
desiring, he now lamented because he durst not desire the obtaining.
Recreant Amphialus, (would he say to him selfe) how darest thou
intitle
thy selfe the louer of Philoclea, that hast neither shewed thy
self a
faithfull coward, nor a valiant rebell, but both rebellious and
cowardly, which no law ca[n] quite, nor grace haue pitie of? Alas life,
what little pleasure thou doost me, to giue me nothing but sense of
reproach, and exercise of ruine? I would sweete Philoclea,
I had died,
before thy eies had seene my weaknes: & then perchaunce with some
sigh thou wouldest haue co[n]fessed, thou hadst lost a worthy seruaunt.
But now, caitife that I am, what euer I haue done, serues but to builde
vp my riuals glory. To these speeches he would couple such gestures of
vexation, & would fortifie the gestures with such effects of furie,
as sometimes offring to teare vp his wou[n]ds, sometimes to refuse the
sustenance of meat, &
counsell of phisitions, that his perplexed mother was driuen to make
him by force to be tended, with extreame corsey to her selfe, &
annoiance to him: till in the end he was contented to promise her, he
would attempt no violence vpon himself, vpon condition he might be
troubled by no body, but onely his Phisitions: his melancholy detesting
all co[m]pany, so as not the very surgeons nor seruants durst speak
vnto
him in doing him seruice: only he had praied his mother, as she
tendered his life, she would procure him grace; and that without that,
she would neuer come at him more.
His mother,
who had co[n]fined all her loue only vnto him, set only such
about him, as were absolutely at her com[m]andement, whom she forbad to
let him know any thing that passed in the castle, till his wounds were
cured, but as she from time to time should instruct them: she (for her
selfe) being resolued, now she had the gouernment of al things in her
owne hands, to satisfie her sonnes loue, by their yeelding, or satisfie
her owne reuenge in their punishment. Yet first, because he should be
the freer fro[m] outward force, she sent a messenger to the campe, to
denounce vnto Basilius, that if he did not presently raise his
siege,
she would cause the heads of the three Ladies, prisoners, to be cut of
before his eies. And to make him the more feare a present performance,
she caused his two daughters & Zelmane to be led vnto the
wals,
where she had made a scaffold, easie to be seene by Basilius:
and there
caused the[m] to be kept, as ready for the slaughter, til answere came
from Basilius. A sight full of pittie it was, to see those
three (all
excelling in all those excellencies, wherwith Nature can beautifie any
body: Pamela giuing sweetnes to maiesty, Philoclea
enriching noblenes
with humblenes, Zelmane setting in womanly beautie manlike
valour) to
be thus subiected to the basest iniury of vniust Fortune. One might see
in Pamela a willingnesse to die, rather then to haue life at
others
discretion, though sometimes a princely disdaine would sparkle out of
her Princely eies, that it should be in others power to force her to
die. In Philoclea a prety feare came vp, to endamaske her rosie
cheekes: but it was such a feare, as rather seemed a kindly childe to
her innate humblenes, then any other dismaiednes: or if she were
dismaied, it was more for Zelmane, then for her selfe; or if
more for her selfe, it was because Zelmane should loose her. As
for Zelmane, as she went with her hands bound (for they durst
not aduenture
on her well knowne valour, especially amo[n]g people which percha[n]ce
might
be moued by such a spectacle to some reuoke) she was the true image of
ouer-maistred courage, & of spite, that sees no remedie. For her
breast swelled withall, the bloud burst out at her nose, and she looked
paler then accustomed, with her eies cast on the ground, with such a
grace, as if she were fallen out with the heauens, for suffering such
an iniury. The lookers on were so moued withal, as they misliked what
themselues did, and yet still did what themselues misliked. For some,
glad to rid themselues of the dangerous annoyaunce of this siege, some
willing to shorten the way to Amphialus-his succession (whereon
they
were dependents) some, & the greatest some, doing because others
did, and suffring because none durst begin to hinder, did in this sort
set their hands to this (in their owne conscience) wicked enterprise.
But whe[n]
this message was brought
to Basilius, & that this pittifull preparation was a
sufficient
letter of credit for him to beleeue it, he called vnto him his chief
cou[n]celors: amo[n]g which, those he chiefly trusted were Philanax
and Kalander (lately come to the campe at Basilius
co[m]mandement, & in
him selfe wery of his solitary life, wanting his sons presence, &
neuer hauing heard him his beloued guestes since they parted from him).
Now in this doubt what he should do, he willed Kalander to
giue him his
aduise: who spake much to this purpose. You co[m]maund me Sir (said he)
to
speake, rather because you will keepe your wonted graue, & noble
manner, to do nothing of importa[n]ce without cou[n]cell, then that in
this
cause (which indeed hath but one way) your mind needs to haue any
counsell: so as my speech shall rather be to co[n]firme what you haue
alredy determined, the[n] to argue against any possibilitie of other
determination. For what sophistical scholler can finde any question in
this, whether you will haue your incomparable daughters liue, or dye?
whether since you be here to cause their deliuerance, you will make
your being here the cause of their destruction? for nothing can be
more vnsensible, then
to thinke what one doth, &
to forget the end
why it is done. Do therfore as I am sure you meane to doo, remoue the
siege, and after seeke by practise, or other ge[n]tle meanes, to
recouer
that which by force you ca[n]not: & therof is indeed (whe[n] it
please
you) more cou[n]sel to be take[n]. Once, in extremities the winning of
time is the purchase of life, & worse by no meanes then their
deaths ca[n] befal vnto you. A ma[n] might vse more words, if it were
to any
purpose to guild gold, or that I had any cause to doubt of your mind:
But you are wise, & are a father. He said no more, for he durst not
attempt to perswade the marrying of his daughter to Amphialus,
but
left that to bring in at another consultation. But Basilius
made signe
to Philanax, who sta[n]ding a while in a maze as inwardly
perplexed, at
last thus deliuered his opinio[n].
If euer I could wish my faith vntried, & my
counsell vntrusted,
it should be at this time, whe[n] in truth I must co[n]fesse I
would be
co[n]tent to purchase sile[n]ce with discredit. But since
you com[m]and, I obey: onely let me say thus much, that I obey not to
these excellent Ladies father, but to my Prince: & a Prince it is
to who[m] I giue cou[n]sel. Therefore as to a Prince I say,
that the graue and (I well know) true-minded counsell of my Lord Kalander
had come in good time whe[n] you first tooke armes, before al
your subiects gate notice of your intention, before so much blood was
spe[n]t, & before they were driue[n] to seek this shift for their
last
remedy. But if now, this force you away, why did you
take armes since you might be sure when euer they were in extremitie
they would haue recourse to this threatning? and for a wise man to take
in hand that which his enimie may with a word ouerthrow, hath in my
conceit great incongruity, & as great not to forethink what his
enemy in reason wil doo. But they threaten
they wil kil your
daughters. What if they promised you if you remoued
your siege, they would honorably send home your daughters? would you be
angled by their promises? truly no more ought you be
terrified by their threatnings. For
yet of the two, promise binds faith more then
threatning. But indeede a Prince of iudgeme[n]t
ought not to consider what his
enimies promise, or threaten, but what
the promisers and threatners in reaso[n] wil do:
&
the neerest co[n]iecture therunto, is what is best for their own
behoofe
to do. They threate if you remoue not, they wil kil
your daughters, and if you doo remoue, what surety haue you, but that
they will kil the[m], since if the purpose be to cut off al impediments
of Amphialus-his
ambitio[n], the same cause wil continue when you are away; & so
much the more encoraged, as the reuenging power is absent,
& they haue the more oportunitie to draw their factious friends
about them: but if it be for their security onely, the same cause wil
bring forth the same effect: & for their security they wil preserue
the[m]. But it may be said, no man knows what desperate folkes will do:
it is true, and as true that no reason nor policie can preuent what
desperate folks wil do: & therfore they are amo[n]g those dangers,
which wisdome is not to recke. Only let it suffice to take away their
despaire, which may be by granting pardon for what is past; so as the
Ladies may be freely deliuered. And let them that are your subiects,
trust you that are their Prince: doo not you subiect your selfe to
trust them, who are so vntrusty as to
be manifest traitors. For if they finde you so base-minded, as by their
th[r]eatning to remoue your force, what indignitie is it,
that they would not bring you vnto, still by the same
threatning? since then if Loue stir them, loue will keep them from
murthering what they loue; and if Ambition prouoke them, ambitious they
will be, when you are away, as well as while you are here: take not
away your force, which bars not the one, & bridels the other. For
as for their shewes and words they are but to feare babes, not worthy
once to moue a worthy mans conceit; which must still co[n]sider what in
reaso[n] they are like to do.
Their despaire I grant you shall do wel
to preuent, which as it is the last of all resolutions, so no man
fals into it, while so good a way as you may offer, is open vnto
the[m]. In su[m], you are a Prince, & a father of people, who ought
with the eye of wisdome, the hand of fortitude, and the hart of iustice
to set downe all priuate conceits, in comparison of what for the
publike is profitable.
He would haue proceeded on, whe[n] Gynecia
came riu[n]ning in amazed for her daughter Pamela,
but mad for Zelmane; & falling at Basilius feet,
besought
him to make no delay:
using such gestures of co[m]passio[n] insteed of stopped words, that Basilius,
otherwise enough tender minded, easily granted to
raise the
siege, which he saw dangerous to his daughters: but indeed more
carefull for Zelmane, by whose besieged person, the poore old
man was
streightly besieged: so as to rid him of the famine of his minde, he
went in speed away; discharging his souldiors: only leauing the
authority, as before, in Philanax his hands, he
himselfe went with Gynecia to a strong Castle of his, where he
took
cou[n]sell how first to deliuer Zelmane, whom he called the
poore
stranger, as though onely Law of hospitalitie moued him; and for that
purpose sent diuers messengers to trafficke with Cecropia.
CHAP.
20.
[T]he sweete
resistance of the true sisters l to the sower assaultes
of
their false Aunt. The whipping of 3 Philoclea 5 and Pa-
mela. 4 The
patience of both 6 and passions for their louers.
Ecropia by this meanes rid of the
present daunger of the siege
(desiring Zoilus and Lycurgus to take the
care, till their brother
recouered, of reuictualling, and furnishing the Citie, both with men
and what els wanted, against any new occasion should vrge them, she her
selfe disdaining to harken to Basilius,
without he would grant his
daughter in mariage to her son, which by no means he would be brought
vnto) bent all the sharpenesse of her malicious wit, how to bring a
comfortable graunt to her sonne; whereupon she well found no lesse then
his life depended. Therfore for a while she atte[m]pted all meanes of
eloquent praying, and flattering perswasion, mingling sometimes gifts,
somtimes threatnings, as she had cause to hope, that either open force,
or vndermining, would best winn the castle of their Resolution. And
euer as much as she did to Philoclea, so much did she to
Pamela, though
in manner sometimes differing, as she found fit to leuell at the ones
noble height, and the others sweet lowlinesse. For though she knew her
sonnes harte had wholly giuen it selfe to Philoclea, yet seeing
the
equall gifts in Pamela, she hoped, a faire grant would recouer
the
sorrow of a faire refusal: cruelly enteding the present impoysoning the
one, as soone as the others affection were purchased.
But in vaine was all her vaine oratory employed. Pamelaes
determination was built vpo[n] so braue a Rock,
that no shot
of hers could reach vnto it: and Philoclea (though humbly
seated) was so inuironed with sweete riuers of cleere vertue, as could
neither
be battred, nor vndermined: her witty perswasions had wise answeres;
her eloquence recompenced with sweetnes; her threatnings repelled with
disdaine in the one, & patience in the other; her gifts either not
accepted, or accepted to obey, but not to bind. So as Cecropia
in
nature violent; cruel, because ambitious; hateful, for old rooted
grudge to their mother, & now spitefull because she could not
preuaile with girles, as she counted them; lastly, drawne on by her
loue to her son, & held vp by a tyrannical authoritie, forthwith
followed the byas of her own crooked disposition, & doubling and
redoubling her threatnings, fel to co[n]firme some of her threatned
effects: first withdrawing al co[m]fort, both of serua[n]ts, &
seruice
from the[m]. But that those excelle[n]t Ladies had bene vsed vnto,
eue[n] at
home, & the[n] fou[n]d in the[m]selues how much good the hardnes of
educatio[n]
doth to the resista[n]ce of misery. Then dishonorably vsing them both
in
dyet, and lodging, by a contempt to pull downe their thoughts to
yeelding. But as before, the consideration of a prison had disgraced al
orname[n]ts, so now the same co[n]sideratio[n] made the[m] attend al
diseasefulnes.
Then stil, as she found those not preuaile, would she go forward with
giuing them terrors, sometimes with noices of horror, sometimes with
suddaine frightings in the night, when the solitary darkenesse thereof
might easier astonish the disarmed senses. But to all Vertue, and Loue
resisted, strengthned one by the other, when each found it selfe
ouer-vehemently assaulted. Cecropia still sweetning her
fiercenesses
with faire promises, if they would promise faire; that feeling euill,
and seing a way far better, their minds might the sooner be mollified.
But they that could not taste her behauiour, when it was pleasing,
indeed could worse now, when they had lost al taste by her iniuries.
She
resoluing all extremities,
rather then faile of co[n]quest, pursued on her rugged way: letting no
day
passe, without new and new perplexing the poore Ladies minds, and
troubling their bodies: and still swelling, the more she was stopped,
and growing hot with her owne doings, at length, abhominable rage
carried her to absolute tyranies, so that taking with her certaine olde
women (of wicked dispositions, and apt for enuie-sake to be cruel to
youth and beautie) with a countena[n]ce impoysoned with malice, flew to
the sweet Philoclea, as if so many Kites should come about a
white Doue, & matching violent gestures with
mischieuous threatnings, she hauing a rod in her ha[n]d (like a fury
that
should carry wood to the burning of Dianas temple) fel to
scourge that
most beautifull body: Loue in vaine holding the shield of Beautie
against her blind cruelty. The Son drew clouds vp to hide his face from
so pitiful a sight; & the very stone wals did yeeld drops of sweate
for agonie of such a mischiefe: each senselesse thing had sense of
pittie; onely they that had sense, were senseles. Vertue rarely found
her worldly weakenes more, then by the oppression of that day: and
weeping Cupid told his weeping mother, that he was sorie he
was not
deaf, as well as blind, that he might neuer know so lamentable a worke.
Philoclea, with tearefull eyes, and sobbing breast (as soon
as her
wearines rather then compassion, gaue her respite) kneeled dow[n]e to Cecropia,
and making pittie in her face honourable, and
torment
delightfull, besought her, since she hated her (for what cause she
tooke God to witnesse she knew not) that she would at once take away
her life, and not please her self with the tormenting of a poore
Gentlewoman. If (said she) the common course of hu[m]anitie cannot moue
you, nor the hauing me in your owne walles, cannot claime pittie: nor
womanly mercie, nor neere alliance, nor reme[m]brance (how miserable so
euer now) that I am a Princes daughter; yet let the loue (you haue
often tolde me) your sonne beares me, so much procure, that for his
sake, one death may be thought inough for me; I haue not liued so many
yeares, but that one death may be able to conclude them: neither haue
my faults, I hope, bene so many, but that one death may satisfie them.
It is no great suite to an enemie, when but death is desired. I craue
but that, and as for the graunting your request, know for certaine you
lose your labours, being euery day furtherof-minded from becoming his
wife, who vseth me like a slaue. But that in stead of getting grace
renued againe Cecropias, fury: so that (excellent creature) she
was
newly again tormented by those hellish monsters: Cecropia vsing
no
other words, but that she was a proud and vngratefull wench: and that
she would teach her to know her owne good, since of her selfe she would
not conceaue it.
So with
silence and patience (like a faire gorgeous armour, hammered vpon by an
ilfauoured Smith) she abode their pittiles dealing with her:
till, rather reseruing her for more, then meaning to end, they left her
to an vncomfortable leysure, to consider
with her selfe her fortune; both helplesse her selfe, being a prisoner,
and hopeles, since Zelmane was a prisoner: who therein onely
was short
of the bottome of miserie, that she knew not how vnworthilie her
Angell, by these deuils was abused: but wanted (God wot) no stings of
griefe, when those words did but strike vpon her hart, that Philoclea
was a captiue, and she not able to succour her. For well she knew the
confidence Philoclea had in her, and well she knew, Philoclea
had cause
to haue confidence: and all troden vnder foot by the wheele of
senselesse Fortune. Yet if there be that imperious power in the soule,
as it can deliuer knowledge to another, without bodilie organs; so
vehement were the workings of their spirites, as one mette with other,
though themselues perceaued it not, but only thought it to be the
doubling of their owne louing fancies. And that was the onely wordly
thing, whereon Philoclea rested her minde,
that she knewe she should die beloued of Zelmane, and shoulde
die,
rather then be false to Zelmane. And so this most daintie
Nimphe,
easing the paine of her minde with thinking of anothers paine; and
almost forgetting the paine of her bodie, through the paine of her
minde, she wasted, euen longing for the conclusion of her tedious
tragedie.
But for a
while she was vnuisited, Cecropia employing her time in vsing
the like crueltie vpon Pamela, her harte growing not onely to
desire the fruite of
punishing
them, but euen to delight in the punishing them. But if euer the beames
of perfection shined through the clowdes of affliction, if
euer Vertue tooke a bodie to shewe his (els vnconceaueable) beautie, it
was in Pamela. For when Reason taught her there was no
resistance, (for
to iust resistance first her harte was enclined) then with so heauenly
a quietnes, and so gracefull a calmenes, did she suffer the diuers
kindes of torments they vsed to her, that while they vexed her faire
bodie, it seemed, that she rather directed, then obeyed the vexation.
And when Cecropia
ended, and asked whether her harte woulde yeelde: she
a little smiled, but such a smiling as shewed no loue, and yet coulde
not but be louelie. And then, Beastly woman (saide she) followe on, doo
what thou wilt, and canst vpon me: for I know thy power is not
vnlimited. Thou maist well wracke this sillie bodie, but me thou canst
neuer ouerthrowe. For my part, I will not doo thee the pleasure to
desire death of thee: but assure thy self, both my life and
death, shall triumph with honour, laying shame vpon thy detestable
tyranny.
And so; in
effect, conquering their doing with her suffering, while Cecropia
tried as many sorts of paines, as might rather vexe
them, then
spoyle them (for that she would not do while she were in any hope to
winne either of them for her sonne) Pamela remained almost as
much
content with triall in her selfe, what vertue could doo, as grieued
with the miserie wherein she found her selfe plunged: only sometimes
her thoughts softned in her, when with open wings they flew to Musidorus.
For then she would thinke with her selfe, how
grieuously Musidorus would take this her miserie; and she, that
wept
not for her
selfe, wept yet Musidorus-his teares, which he would weep for
her. For
gentle Loue did easlier yeeld to lamentation, then the constancy of
vertue would els admitte. Then would she remember the case wherein she
had left her poore shepheard, and she that wished death for her self,
feared death for him; and she that condemned in her selfe the
feeblenes of sorrow, yet thought it great reason to be sory for his
sorow: & she that long had prayed for the vertuous ioyning
themselues together, now thinking to die herself, hartely prayed, that
long time their fortunes might be seperated. Liue long my Musidorus
(would she say) and let my name liue in thy mouth; in thy harte my
memorie. Liue long, that thou mayst loue long the chast loue of thy
dead Pamela. Then would she wish to her selfe, that no other
woman
might euer possesse his harte: and yet scarcely the wish was made a
wish, when her selfe would finde fault with it, as being too vniust,
that so excellent a man should be banished from the comfort of life.
Then would she fortifie her resolution, with bethinking the worste,
taking the counsell of vertue, and comfort of loue.
CHAP.
21.
1 Cecropias indurate
tyrannies. 2 Her deuise with the death
of one to
threaten another. 3 Philoclea threatned, persi-
steth. 4 The execution done
in sight of Philoclea & Zel-
mane. 5 Philocleas sorrow for her sister.
O these diamonds of the worlde whom
Nature had made to be
preciously set in the eyes of her creatures, to
be the chiefe workes of
her workemanship, the chiefe ornaments of the worlde, and Princesses of
felicitie, by rebellious iniury were brought to the vttermost distres
that an enemies hart could wish, or a womans spite inuent: Cecropia
dayly in one or other sorte punishing the[m], still with her euill
torments giuing them feare of worse, making the feare it selfe the
sorriest torment of all; that in the end wearie of their bodies they
should be content to bestow them at her appointme[n]t. But as in
labour,
the more one doth exercise it, the more by the doing one is enhabled to
doo; strength growing vpo[n] the worke, so as what at first would haue
seemed impossible, after growes easie: so these Princesses second to
none, and far from any second, only to be matched by the[m]selues, with
the vse of suffering their minds gat the habit of suffring so, as all
feares & terrors were to them but summons to a battaile, whereof
they knew before ha[n]d they would be victorious, & which in the
suffering was painfull, being suffered, was a trophe to it self:
whereby Cecropia found her self still farder of: for where at
first she
might perchance haue perswaded them to haue visited her sonne, and haue
giuen him some comforte in his sicknesse, drawing neere to the
co[n]fines of Deaths kingdome, now they protested, that they would
neuer
otherwise speake to him, then as to the enemy, of most vniust cruelty
towards them, that any time or place could euer make them know.
This made
the poison swell in her
cankred brest, perceiuing that (as in water) the more she grasped the
lesse she held: but yet now hauing run so long the way of rigour, it
was too late in reason, and too contrary to her passion, to returne to
a course of meekenesse. And therefore (taking counsell of one of her
olde associates who so far excelled in wickednesse as that she had not
onely lost all feeling of conscience, but had gotten a very glory in
euill) in the ende they determined, that beating, and other
such sharp dealing did not so much pull downe a womans harte, as it
bred anger, and that nothing was more enemy to yeelding, then anger;
making their te[n]der harts take on the armour of obstinacy: (for thus
did
their wicked mindes blind to the light of vertue, & owly eied in
the night of wickednes interpret of it) & that therfore that was no
more to be tried. And for feare of death (which no question would doo
most with them) they had bene so often threatened, as they began to be
familiarly acquainted with it, and learned to esteeme threatning wordes
to be but words. Therefore the last, but best way now was, that the one
seing indeede the others death, should perceiue, there was no dallying
meant: and then there was no doubt, that a womans soule would do much,
rather then leaue so beautifull a body.
This being
concluded, Cecropia went to Philoclea,
and tolde her, that
now she was to come to the last parte of the play: for her part, though
she found her hard harted obstinacie such, that neither the sweetnesse
of louing meanes, nor the force of harde meanes could preuaile with
her, yet before she would passe to a further degree of extremity; she
had sought to win her sister; in hope, that her sonne might be with
time satisfied with the loue of so faire a Lady: but finding her also
rather more then lesse wilful, she was now minded that one of their
deathes should serue for an example to the other, that despising worthy
folks was more hurtfull to the despiser, then the despised: that yet
because her sonne especially affected her, & that in her owne selfe
she was more inclinable to pittie her, the she had deserued, she would
begin with her sister; who that
afternoone should haue her
head cut of
before her face; if in the mean time one of them, did not pull out
their il-wrought stiches of vnkindnes, she bad her looke for no other,
nor lo[n]ger time the she told her. There was no assault giue[n] to the
sweet Philocleas mind, that entered so far, as this: for where
to
all
paines
and daungers of her selfe, foresight with (his Lieutenant Resolution)
had made ready defence; now with the loue she bare her sister, she was
driuen to a stay, before she determined: but long she staled not,
before this reason did shine vnto her, that since in her selfe she
preferred death before such a base seruitude, loue did teach her to
wish the same to her sister. Therefore crossing her armes, &
looking sideward vpon the grou[n]d, Do what you wil (said she) with
us: for my part, heauen shall melt before I be remoued. But if you will
follow my counsell, for your owne sake (for as for praiers for my sake
I haue felt how little they preuaile) let my death first serue for
example to win her, who perchaunce is not so resolued against Amphialus,
and so shall you not onely iustly punish me (who indeede doo hate both
you and your sonne) but, if that may mooue you, you shall doo more
vertuously in preseruing one most worthy of life, and killing an other
most desirous of death: lastly in winning her, in steed of a peeuish
vnhappie creature, that I am, you shall blesse your sonne with the most
excellent woman in all praise-worthy thinges, that the worlde holdeth.
But Cecropia, (who had already set downe to her selfe what she
would
do) with bitter both termes, & countenaunce, told her, that she
should not neede to woo death ouer-egerly: for if her sister going
before her did not teach her witt, herselfe should quickly follow. For
since they were not to be gotten, there was no way for her sonnes
quiet, but to know, that they were past getting. And so since no
intreating, nor threatning might preuayle, she bad her prepare her eies
for a new play, which she should see within fewe houres in the hall of
that castle.
A place indeed ouerfit for so
vnfit a matter: for being so stately made that the bottome of it being
euen with the grounde, the roofe reached as hie as any part of the
castle, at either ende it had conuenient lodgeings. In the one end was
(one storie from the ground) Philocleas abode, in the other of
euen
height, Pamelas, and Zelmanes in a chamber aboue her:
but all so
vaulted of strong, and thickly built stone, as one could no way heare
the other: each of these chambers had a litle windowe to looke into the
hall, but because the sisters should not haue so much comforte, as to
looke out to one another, there was (of the outsides) curtaynes
drawne, which they could not reach with their hands, so barring the
reach of their sight. But when the houre came that the Tragedie should
beginne, the curtaynes were withdrawen from before the windowes of Zelmane,
and of Philoclea: a sufficient challenge to
call their eyes
to defende themselues in such an incounter. And by and by came in at
one ende of the hall, with about a dozen armed souldiers a Ladie, led
by a couple, with her handes bounde before her: from aboue her eyes to
her lippes muffled with a faire kerchiefe, but from her mouth to the
shoulders all bare: and so was led on to a scaffold raised a good
deale from the floore, and all couered with crimsin veluet. But neither
Zelmane, nor Philoclea needed to be tolde, who she
was: for the
apparell she ware made them too well assured, that it was the admirable
Pamela. Whereunto the rare whitenesse of her naked necke
gaue
sufficient testimonie to their astonnished senses. But the fayre Ladie
being come to the scaffold, and then made to kneele downe, and so lefte
by her vnkinde supporters, as it seemed that she was about to speake
somewhat (whereunto Philoclea,
poore soule, earnestly listned,
according to her speach euen minded to frame her minde, her harte neuer
till then almost wauering to saue her sisters life) before the
vnfortunate Ladie could pronounce three wordes, the executioner cutt of
the ones speech, and the others attention, with making his sworde doo
his cruell office vpon that beautifull necke. Yet the pittilesse sworde
had such pittie of so pretious an obiect, that at first it did but
hitte flat long. But little auailed that, since the Ladie falling downe
astonnished withall, the cruell villayne forced the sworde with another
blowe to diuorce the faire marriage of the head and body.
And this was
done so in an instant, that the very act did ouerrun Philocleas
sorrow (sorrow not being able so quickly to
thunderbolte her
harte thorough her senses, but first onely opprest her with a storme of
amazement) but when her eies saw that they did see, as condemning
themselues to haue seene it, they became weary of their owne power of
seing: & her soule then drinking vp woe with great draughts, she
fel downe to deadly trau[n]ces: but her waiting iaylors with cruell
pitty
brought lothed life vnto her; which yet many times tooke his leaue as
though he would indeed depart: but when he was staied by force, he kept
with him deadly Sorrow, which thus exercised her mourning speech. Pamela
my sister, my sister Pamela, woe is me for
thee, I would I had
died for thee. Pamela
neuer more shall I see thee: neuer more shall I
enioy thy sweet companie, and wise counsell. Alas, thou arte gone to
beautifie heauen, and haste thou lefte me here, who haue nothing good
in me, but that I did euer loue thee, and euer will lament thee? Let
this day be noted of all vertuous folkes for most vnfortunate: let it
neuer be mentioned, but among curses; and cursed be they that did this
mischiefe, and most accursed be mine eyes that behelde it.
Sweete Pamela; that head is striken of, where onely wisedome
might be
spoken withall; that bodie is destroied, which was the liuing booke of
vertue. Deare Pamela, how haste thou lefte me to all
wretchednesse, and
miserie? Yet while thou liuedst, in thee I breathed, of thee I hoped. O
Pamela, how much did I for thy excellencie honour thee, more
then my
mother, and loue thee more then my selfe? Neuer more shall I lie with
thee: neuer more shall we bathe in the pleasant riuer together: neuer
more shall I see thee in thy shephearde apparell. But thou arte gone,
and where am I? Pamela is dead; and liue I? My God, And with
that she
fell againe in a soune, so as it was a great while before they could
bring her to her selfe againe; but being come to herselfe, Alas (said
she) vnkind women, since you haue giuen me so many deathes, torment me
not now with life: for Gods sake let me goe, and excuse your hands of
more blood. Let me follow my Pamela, whom euer I sought to
follow. Alas Pamela, they will not let me come to thee. But if
they keepe
promise, I
shall treade thine owne steppes after thee. For to what am I borne
(miserable soule) but to be most vnhappie in my selfe, and yet more
vnhappie in others? But ô that a thousand more miseries had
happened vnto me, so thou haddest not dyed: Pamela, my sister Pamela.
And so,
like lamentable Philomela, complained she the horrible wrong
done to
her sister, which if it stird not in the wickedly closed minds of her
tormentors, a pittie of her sorrow, yet bredde it a wearinesse of her
sorrow: so as onely leauing one to preuent any harme she should doo
her selfe, the rest went away, consulting againe with Cecropia,
how to
make profite of this their late bloodie act.
CHAP.
22.
1 Cecropias pollicie to vse
Zelmanes intercession, 2 Zelma-
nes selfe-conflict. 3 Her motion to
Philoclea rather to dis-
semble then dye.
4 Philocleas resolution rather to dye then
dissemble. 5 At sight of Philocleas head
Zelmanes ex-
tasies, 7 desperate deseignes, 8 and
comfortlesse complaints.
N the ende, that woman that vsed most to
keep company with Zelmane,
told Cecropia, that she founde by
many most sensible proofes in Zelmane,
that there was neuer woman so loued another, as she
loued Philoclea: which was the cause that she (further then the
commandement
of Cecropia) had caused Zelmanes curtaines to be also
drawne: because
hauing the same spectacle that Philoclea had, she might stand
in the
greater feare for her, whom she loued so wel: and that indeed she had
hit the needle in that deuise: for neuer saw she creature so astonished
as Zelmane, exceedingly sory for Pamela, but
exceedingly exceeding that
exceedingnes in feare for Philoclea. Therefore her aduice was,
she
should cause Zelmane to come and speake with Philoclea.
For there being
such vehemencie of friendship between them, it was both likely to moue Zelmane
to perswade, and Philoclea to be perswaded. Cecropia
liked wel
of the counsell, and gaue order to the same woman to go deale therein
with Zelmane, and to assure her with othe, that Cecropia was
determined Philoclea should passe the same way that Pamela
had
done, without she
did yeeld to satisfie the extremitie of her sonnes affection: which the
woman did, adding therunto many (as she thought) good reasons to make Zelmane
thinke Amphialus a fit match for Philoclea.
But Zelmane (who had from time to time
vnderstood the cruell dealing
they had vsed to the sisters, & now had her own eies
wounded with
the sight of ones death) was so confused withall (her courage still
rebelling against her wit, desiring still with force to doo impossible
matters) that as her desire was stopped with power, so her co[n]ceit
was
darkned with a mist of desire. For blind Loue, & inuincible valure
stil would cry out, that it could not be, Philoclea should be
in so
miserable estate, and she not relieue her: and so while she haled her
wit to her courage, she drew it from his owne limits. But now Philocleas
death (a word able
to marshall al his thoughts in order) being come to so short a point
either with smal delay to be suffred, or by the giuing her selfe to
another to be preuented, she was driue to think, and to desire some
leasure of thinking: which the woman granted for that night vnto her.
A night that was not halfe so blacke, as her mind; not halfe so
silent, as was fit for her musing thoughts. At last, he that would
faine haue desperatly lost a thousand liues for her sake, could not
finde in his harte, that she should loose any life for her owne sake;
and he that despised his owne death in respect of honour, yet could
well nye dispense with honor it self in respect of Philocleas
death:
for once the thought could not enter into his harte, nor the breath
issue out of his mouth, which could consent to Philocleas death
for any
bargaine. Then how to preuent the next degree to death (which was her
being possest by another) was the point of his minds labour: and in
that he found no other way, but that Philoclea should pretend a
yeelding vnto Cecropias request; & so by speaking with Amphialus,
and making faire (but delaying) promises, procure libertie for Zelmane;
who onely wisht but to come by a sword, not doubting then to destroy
them all, and deliuer Philoclea: so little did both the me[n],
and their
forces seeme in her eyes, looking downe vpon them from the hye toppe of
affections tower.
With that
minde therefore (but first wel bound) she was brought to Philoclea,
hauing alredy plotted out in her co[n]ceite, how
she would
deale with her: & so came she with hart and eyes, which did each
sacrifice either to Loue vpon the aultar of Sorrow: and there had she
the pleasing displeasing sight of Philoclea: Philoclea,
who alredie the
extreame sense of sorrow had brought to a dulnesse therin, her face not
without tokens that beautie had bene by many miseries cruelly battered,
& yet shewed it most the perfection of the beautie, which could
remaine vnouerthrowne by such enimies. But whe[n] Zelmane was
set downe
by her, & the wome[n] gone away (because she might be the better
perswaded whe[n] no body was by, that had heard her say she would not
be
perswaded) then began first the eyes to speake, and the harts to crie
out: Sorrow a while would needes speake his owne language without vsing
their tongues to be his interpreters. At last Zelmane brake
silence,
but spake with the onely eloquence of amazement: for all her long
methodized oration was
inherited onely by such kinde of speeches. Deare Ladie, in extreame
necessities we must not. But alas vnfortunate wretch that I am, that I
liue to see this day. And I take heauen and earth to witnesse, that
nothing: and with that her brest swelled so with spite and griefe, that
her breath had not leasure to turne her selfe into words. But the sweet
Philoclea that had alredie dyed in Pamela, and of
the other side had
the heauines of her hart somthing quickned in the most beloued sight of
Zelmane, ghessed somewhat at Zelmanes minde; and
therefore spake vnto
her in this sort. My Pyrocles
(said she) I know this exceeding comfort
of your presence, is not brought vnto me for any good-will that is owed
vnto me: but (as I suppose) to make you perswade me to saue my life
with the ransome of mine honour: although no bodie should be so vnfit a
pleader in that cause, as your selfe, yet perchance you would haue me
liue. Your honour? God forbid (said Zelmane) that euer, for any
cause,
I should yeeld to any touch of it. But a while to pretend some
affection, til time, or my libertie might worke somthing for your
seruice: this, if my astonished senses would giue me leaue, I would
faine haue perswaded you.
To what
purpose my Pyrocles? (said Philoclea) of a miserable
time
what gaine is there? hath Pamelaes example wrought no more in
me? is
a captiue life so much worth? ca[n] euer it goe out of these lips, that
I
loue any other but Pyrocles? shal my tongue be so false a
traitor to my
hart, as to say I loue any other but Pyrocles? And why should I
do all
this? to liue? O Pamela, sister Pamela, why should I
liue? onely for
thy sake Pyrocles I would liue: but to thee I know too well I
shal not
liue; and if not to thee, hath thy loue so base allay, my Pyrocles,
as
to wish me to liue? for dissimulation, my Pyrocles, my
simplicitie is
such, that I haue hardly bene able to keepe a straight way; what shall
I doo in a crooked? But in this case there is no meane of
dissimulation, not for the cunningest: present answere is required, and
present performance vpon the answere. Art thou so terrible, ô
Death? No
my Pyrocles; and for that I doo thanke thee, and in my soule
thanke
thee; for I confesse the loue of thee is heerein my chiefest vertue.
Trouble me not therefore, deare Pyrocles, nor double not my
death by
tormenting my resolution: since I cannot liue with thee, I wil dye for
thee. Onely remember me deare Pyrocles; and loue the
remembrance of me: and if I
may craue so much of thee, let me be thy last loue, for though I be not
worthy of thee (who indeed art the worthiest creature liuing) yet
remember that my loue was a worthy loue. But Pyrocles was so
ouercome
with sorrow (which wisdome & vertue made iust in so excellent a
Ladies case, ful of so excelle[n]t kindnes) that words were ashamed to
come forth knowing how weake they were to expresse his mind, & her
merit: and therfore so stayed in a deadly silence, forsaken of hope,
& forsaking comfort: till the appointed gardians came in, to see
the fruits of Zelmanes labour: & then Zelmane
warned by their
presence, fel againe to perswade, though scarcely her selfe could tell
what; but in sum, desirous of delayes. But Philoclea sweetly
continuing
co[n]stant, & in the end punishing her importunity with silence, Zelmane
was faine to ende. Yet crauing an other times
co[n]ference, she
obtained it, & diuers others; till at the last Cecropia
found it
was to no purpose, and therfore determined to follow her owne way. Zelmane
yet stil desirous to win (by any meanes) respit,
euen wasted
with sorrow, & vncertaine, whether in worse case in her prese[n]ce,
or
absence, being able to do nothing for Philocleas succour, but
by
submitting the greatest corage of the earth to fall at the feete of Cecropia,
and craue stay of their sentence till the
vttermost was
seene, what her perswasions might doo.
Cecropia
seemed much to be
moued by her importunitie, so as diuers dayes were wonne of painefull
life to the excellent Philoclea: while Zelmane suffred
some hope to
cherrish her mind, especially trusting vpon the helpe of Musidorus,
who
(she knew) would not be idle in this matter, till one morning a noise
awaked Zelmane, from whose ouer-watchfull mind, the tired body
had
stolne a little sleep: and straight with the first opening of her eyes,
Care taking the woonted place, she ranne to the window which looked
into the hall (for that way the noise guided her,) and there might she
see (the curtaine being left open euer since the last execution) seuen
or eight persons in a cluster vpon the scaffold: who by & by
retiring themselues, nothing was to be seene thereupon, but a bason of
golde, pitifully enameled with bloud, and in the midst of it, the head
of the most beautifull Philoclea. The horriblenes of the
mischiefe was
such, as Pyrocles could not at first beleeue his own senses,
hut bent his woful eyes to discerne it better: where too well he might
see it was Philocleas selfe, hauing no veile, but beautie, ouer
the
face, which still appeared to be aliue: so did those eyes shine, euen
as they were wont, and they were woont more then any other: and
sometimes as they moued, it might well make the beholder think, that
death therin had borowed their beutie, and not they any way disgraced
by death: so sweet and pearsing a grace they caried with them.
It was not a pitie, it was not an amazement, it was
not a sorow which
then laid holde on Pyrocles, but a wilde furie of
desperate agonie, so
that he cried out, O tyraunt heauen, traytor earth, blinde prouidence;
no iustice, how is this done? how is this suffered? hath this world a
gouernment? If it haue, let it poure out all his mischiefes vpon me,
and see whether it haue power to make me more wretched then I am. Did
she excell for this? haue I prayed for this? abhominable hande that did
it; detestable deuil that commaunded it; cursed light that beheld it:
and if the light be cursed, what are then mine eyes that haue seene it?
And haue I seen Philoclea dead, and doo I liue? and haue I
liued, not to
help her, but to talke of her? and stande I still talking? And with
that (caried with the madnes of anguish, not hauing a redier way to
kill himselfe) he ranne as hard as euer he could, with his head against
the wall, with intention to braine himself: but the haste to doo it,
made the doing the slower. For, as he came to giue the blow, his foot
tript, so as it came not with the full force: yet forcible inough to
strike him downe, and withall, to depriue him of his sense, so that he
lay a while, comforted by the hurt, in that he felte not his discomfort.
And when he came againe to himselfe, he heard, or he
thought he heard
a voice, which cried, Reue[n]ge, Reuenge; whether indeed it were his
good
Angell, which vsed that voice to stay him from vnnaturall murdering of
him selfe; or that his wandering spirites lighted vpon that conceite,
and by their weakenes (subiect to apprehensions) supposed they heard
it. But that indeed, helped with Vertue, and her valiant seruant Anger,
stopped him from present destroying him selfe: yeelding, in reason and
manhoode, first to destroy, man, woman, and childe, that were any way
of kinne to them that were accessarie to this crueltie; then to raze
the Castle, and to builde a sumptuous monument for her sister, and a
most sumptuous for her selfe; and then,
himselfe to die vpon her tomb. This determining in himselfe to do, and
to seeke all meanes how (for that purpose) to get out of prison: he
was content a while to beare the thirst of death: and yet went he
againe to the windowe, to kisse the beloued head with his eies, but
there saw he nothing but the scafiold, all couered ouer with skarlet,
and nothing but solitarie silence, to mourn this mischiefe. But then,
Sorrow hauing disperste it selfe from his harte, in all his noble
partes, it proclaimed his authoritie, in cries, and teares, and with a
more gentle dolefulnes, could poure out his inward euill.
Alas (said
he) and is that head taken away too, so soone from mine eyes? What,
mine eyes, perhappes they enuie the excellencie of your sorrow?
Indeede, there is nothing now left to become the eyes of all ma[n]kind,
but teares: and wo be to me, if any exceede me in wofulnes. I do
coniure you all, my senses, to accept no obiect, but of Sorow: be
ashamed, nay, abhor to thinke of comfort. Vnhappie eyes, you haue seene
too much, that euer the light should be welcome to you: vnhappie
eares, you shall neuer heare the musicke of Musicke in her voice:
vnhappie harte, that hast liued to feel these pangues. Thou hast done
thy worst, World, & cursed be thou, and cursed art thou, since to
thine owne selfe thou hast done the worst thou couldest doo. Exiled
Beautie, let onely now thy beautie be blubbered faces. Widowed Musick,
let now thy tunes be rorings, and lamentations. Orphane Vertue, get
thee winges, and flie after her into heauen; here is no dwelling place
for thee. Why liued I, alas? Alas why loued I? to die wretched, and to
be the example of the heauens hate? And hate, & spare not, for
your worst blow is striken. Sweet Philoclea, thou art gone, and
hast
caried with thee my loue; & hast thy loue in me, & I wretched
ma[n] do liue; I liue, to die co[n]tinually, till thy reuenge do giue
me
leaue to dy: & then dy I will, my Philoclea,
my hart willinglie
makes this promise to it selfe. Surely he did not looke vpon thee, that
gaue the cruell blow: for no eye coulde haue abidden to see such
beautie ouerthrowen by such mischiefe. Alas, why should they diuide
such a head from such a bodie? no other bodye is worthy of that head;
no other head is woorthie of that body: O yet, if I had taken my last
leaue, if I might haue taken a holie kisse from that dying mouth. Where
art thou Hope which promisest neuer to leaue a ma[n] while he liueth?
Tell
me, what canst thow hope for? nay tel me, what is there which I would
willingly hope after? Wishing power (which is accounted infinite) what
now is left to wish for? She is gone, and gone with her all my hope,
all
my wishing. Loue, be ashamed to be called Loue: cruell Hate,
vnspeakable Hate is victorious ouer thee. Who is there now left, that
can iustifie thy tyrannie, and giue reason to thy passion? O cruell
diuorce of the sweetest mariage that euer was in Nature: Philoclea is
dead, and dead is with her all goodnesse, all sweetnesse, all
excellencie. Philoclea is dead, and yet Life is not ashamed to
co[n]tinue vpon the earth. Philoclea is dead: O deadly word;
which containeth in
it selfe the vttermost of all misfortunes. But happie worde when thou
shalt be said of me, and long it shall not be, before it be said.
CHAP.
17 [23].
1 A Ladies kinde comforts to
Pyrocles comfortlesse vnkind-
nesse. 2 His
hardly knowing her. 3 Her vnmasking of
Cecropias fruitlesse sophistrie. 4 Their medley of
solace and sorowe.
Hen stopping his woordes with sighes,
drowning his sighes I in teares,
& drying againe his teares in rage, he
would sitte a while in a
wandring muse, which represented nothing but vexations vnto him: then
throwing himselfe somtimes vpon the floore, and sometimes vpon the
bedde: then vp againe, till walking was wearisome, and rest loathsome:
and so neither suffering foode, nor sleepe to helpe his afflicted
nature, all that day and night he did nothing, but weepe Philoclea,
sigh Philoclea, and crie out Philoclea: till as it
happened (at that
time vpon his bed) towarde the dawning of the day, he heard one stirre
in his chamber, by the motion of garme[n]ts; and he with an angry voice
asked, Who was there? A poore Gentlewoman (answered the partie) that
wish long life vnto you. And I soone death to you (said he) for the
horrible curse you haue giuen me. Certainely (said she) an vnkinde
answere, and far vnworthy the excellencie of your mind; but not
vnsutable to the rest of
your behauiour. For most parte of this night I haue hearde you (being
let into your chamber, you neuer perceiuing it, so was your minde
estraunged from your senses) and haue hearde nothing of Zelmane,
in Zelmane, nothing but weake waylings, fitter for some nurse
of a
village, then so famous a creature as you are. O God (cried out Pyrocles)
that thou wert a man that vsest these wordes vnto me. I tell
thee I am sory: I tell thee I will be sory in despite of thee, and all
them that would haue me ioyfull. And yet (replied she) perchaunce Philoclea
is not dead, whom you so much bemone. I would we
were both
dead of that condition, said Pyrocles. See the folly of your
passion
(said she) as though you should be neerer to her, you being dead, and
she aliue; then she being dead, & you aliue: & if she be dead,
was she not borne to die? what then do you crie out for? not for her,
who must haue died one time or other; but for some fewe yeares: so as
it is time, & this world that seeme so louely things, and not Philoclea
vnto you. O noble Sisters (cried Pyrocles)
now you be gone
(who were the onely exalters of all womankind) what is left in that
sex, but babling, and businesse? And truly (said she) I will yet a
little longer trouble you. Nay, I pray you doo (said Pyrocles)
for I
wishe for nothing in my shorte life, but mischiefes, and combers: and I
am content you shall be one of them. In truth (said she) you would
thinke your selfe a greatly priuiledged person, if since the strongest
buildings, and lastingest monarchies are subiect to end, onely your Philoclea
(because she is yours) should be exempted. But
indeede you
bemone your selfe, who haue lost a friende: you cannot her, who hath in
one act both preserued her honour, and lefte the miseries of this
worlde. O womans philosophie, childish follie (said Pyrocles)
as though
if I do bemone my selfe, I haue not reason to doo so, hauing lost more
then any Monarchie, nay then my life can be woorth vnto me. Alas (said
she) comforte your selfe, Nature did not forget her skill, when she
had made them: you shall find many their superiours, and perchaunce
such, as (when your eyes shall looke abroad) your selfe will like
better.
But that
speech put all
good maners out of the conceit of Pyrocles; in so much, that
leaping out
of his bed, he ran to haue striken her: but comming neere her (the
morning then winning the field of darkenesse) he saw, or he thought he
sawe, indeede, the
very face of Philoclea;
the same sweetenesse, the same grace, the same
beautie: with which carried into a diuine astonishment, he fell downe
at her feete. Most blessed Angell (said he) well haste thou done to
take that shape, since thou wouldest submit thy selfe to mortall sense;
for [a] more Angelicall forme could not haue bene created for thee.
Alas, euen by that excellent beautie, so beloued of me, let it be
lawfull for me to aske of thee, what is the cause, that she, that
heauenly creature, whose forme you haue taken, should by the heauens be
destined to so vnripe an ende? Why should vniustice so preuaile? Why
was she seene to the world, so soone to be rauished from vs? Why was
she not suffered to liue, to teach the world perfection? Doo not
deceiue thy selfe (answered she) I am no Angell; I am Philoclea,
the
same Philoclea, so truely louing you, so truly beloued of you.
If it be
so (said he) that you are indeede the soule of Philoclea, you
haue done
well to keepe your owne figure: for heauen could haue giuen you a
better. Then alas, why haue you taken the paines to leaue your blisfull
seat to come to this place most wretched, to me, who am wretchednes it
selfe, & not rather obtain for me, that I might come where you are,
there eternally to behold, & eternally to loue your beauties? you
know (I know) that I desire nothing but death, which I only stay, to be
iustly reuenged of your vniust murtherers.
Deare Pyrocles (said she)
I
am thy Philoclea, and as yet liuing: not murdred, as you
supposed, and
therefore to be comforted. And with that gaue him her hand. But the
sweet touch of that hande, seemed to his astraied powers so heauenly a
thing, that it rather for a while confirmed him in his former beliefe:
till she, with vehement protestations (and desire that it might be so,
helping to perswade that it was so) brought him to yeeld; yet
doubtfully to yeelde to this height of al comfort, that Philoclealiued:
which witnessing with the teares of ioy, Alas (said he) how
shall I beleeue mine eies any more? or doo you yet but appeare thus
vnto me, to stay me from some desperate end? For alas I sawe the
excellent Pamela beheaded: I saw your head (the head indeede,
and
chiefe parte of all natures workes) standing in a dishe of golde, too
meane a shrine (God wote) for such a relike. How can this be, my onely
deare, and you liue? or if this be not so, how can I bel[ee]ue mine
owne
senses? and if I can not beleeue the, why should I now beleeue these
blessed tidings they bring me?
The truth is
(said she) my Pyrocles, that nether I (as you finde) nor yet my
deare sister is dead: although the mischieuously suttle Cecropia
vsed slightes to make
either of vs thinke so or other. For, hauing in vaine attempted the
fardest of her wicked eloquence, to make eyther of vs yeeld to her
sonne, and seeing that neither it, accompanied with great flatteries,
and riche presents, could get any grounde of vs, nor yet the violent
way she fell into of crueltie, tormenting our bodies, could preuayle
with vs; at last, she made either of vs thinke the other dead, and so
hoped to haue wrested our mindes to the forgetting of vertue: and first
she gaue to mine eyes the miserable spectacle of my sisters (as I
thought) death: but indeede not my sister: it was onely Artesia,
she
who so cunningly brought vs to this misery. Truly I am sory for the
poore Gentlewoman, though iustly she be punished for her double
falshood: but Artesia muffled so, as you could not easily
discerne her;
and in my sisters apparell (which they had taken from her vnder colour
of giuing her other) did they execute: And when I (for thy sake
especially deare Pyrocles) could by no force, nor feare be won,
they
assayed the like with my sister, by bringing me downe vnder the
scaffolde, and (making me thrust my head vp through a hole they had
made therin) they did put about my poore necke a dishe of gold,
whereout they had beaten the bottome, so as hauing set bloud in it, you
sawe how I played the parte of death (God knowes euen willing to haue
done it in earnest) and so had they set me, that I reached but on
tiptoes to the grounde, so as scarcely I could breathe, much lesse
speake: And truely if they had kepte me there any whit longer, they had
strangled me, in steed of beheading me: but then they tooke me away,
and seeking to see their issue of this practise, they found my noble
sister (for the deare loue she vouchsafeth to beare me) so grieued
withall, that she willed them to doo their vttermost crueltie vnto her:
for she vowed, neuer to receiue sustenaunce of them, that had bene the
causers of my murther: and finding both of vs, euen giuen ouer, not
like to liue many houres longer, and my sister Pamela, rather
worse
then my selfe, (the strength of her harte worse bearing those
indignities) the good woman Cecropia (with the same pittie as
folkes
keepe foule, when they are not fatte inough for their eating) made vs
know her deceipt, & let vs
come one to another; with what ioye you can well imagine, who I know
feele the like; sauing that we only thought our selues reserued to
miseries, and therefore fitter for condoling, then congratulating. For
my parte, I am fully perswaded, it is but with a little respite, to
haue a more feeling sense of the tormentes she prepares for vs. True
it is, that one of my guardians would haue me to beleeue, that this
proceedes of my gentle cousin Amphialus: who hauing hearde some
inckling that we were euill entreated, had called his mother to his
bedside, from whence he neuer rose since his last combat, and besought,
& charged her vpon all the loue she bare him, to vse vs with all
kindnesse: vowing, with all the imprecations he could imagine, that if
euer he vnderstood for his sake, that I receiued further hurt then the
want of my libertie, he woulde not liue an houre longer. And the good
woman sware to me that he would kill his mother, if he knewe how I had
bene dealte with; but that Cecropia keepes him from
vnderstanding
thinges how they passe, onely hauing heard a whispering, and my selfe
named, he had (of aboundaunce, forsooth, of honorable loue) giuen this
charge for vs. Whereupon this enlargement of mine was growne: for my
parte I know too well their cunning (who leaue no mony vnoffered that
may buy mine honour) to beleeue any worde they say, but (my deare Pyrocles)
euen looke for the worste, and prepare my selfe for the sam[e].
Yet I must confesse, I was content to robbe from death, and borrowe of
my misery the sweet comfort of seeing my sweet sister, and moste sweete
comforte of thee my Pyrocles. And so hauing leaue, I came
stealing into
your chamber: where (O Lord) what a ioy it was vnto me, to heare you
solemnise the funerals of the poore Philoclea? That I my selfe
might
liue to heare my death bewailed? and by whom? by my deere Pyrocles.
That I saw death was not strong enough to diuide thy loue from me? O
my Pyrocles, I am too well paide for my paines I haue suffred:
ioyfull
is my woe for so noble a cause; and welcome be all miseries, since to
thee I am so welcome. Alas how I pittied to heare thy pittie of me; and
yet a great while I could not finde in my hart to interrupt thee, but
often had euen pleasure to weepe with thee: and so kindly came forth
thy lamentations, that they inforced me to lament to, as if indeed I
had beene a looker on, to see poore Philoclea dye. Til at last
I spake with you, to try
whether I could remoue thee fro[m] sorrow, till I had almost procured
my
selfe a beating.
And with
that she pretily smiled,
which, mingled with her teares, one could not tell whether it were a
mourning pleasure, or a delightful sorrow: but like whe[n] a few Aprill
drops are scattered by a gentle Zephyrus among fine coloured
flowers.
But Pyrocles, who had felt (with so smal dista[n]ce of time) in
himself
the ouerthrow both of hope and despaire, knew not to what key he should
tune his mind, either of ioy, or sorrow. But finding perfite reason in
neither, suffred himselfe to be caried by the tide of his imagination,
& his imaginations to be raised euen by the sway, which hearing or
seing, might giue vnto the[m]: he saw her aliue, he was glad to see her
aliue: he saw her weep, he was sory to see her weep: he heard her
co[m]fortable speeches, nothing more gladsome: he hard her
prognosticating
her own destructio[n], nothing more dolefull. But when he had a little
taken breath from the panting motion of such contrarietie in passions,
he fell to consider with her of her present estate, both comforting
her, that certainely the worst of this storme was past, since alreadie
they had done the worst, which mans wit could imagine: and that if they
had determined to haue killed her, they would haue now done it: and
also earnestly counselling her, and inhabling his counsels with
vehement prayers, that she would so far second the hopes of Amphialus,
as that she might but procure him liberty; promising then as much to
her, as the liberalitie of louing corage durst promise to himselfe.
CHAP.
24.
1 Amphialus excuseth. 2
The Princesses accuse. 3 Cecropia
seeking their
death 4 findeth her owne. 5 Amphialus-his
death-panges and
selfe-killing. 6 The wofull knowledge
of it.
Vt who would liuely describe the manner
of these speeches, should paint
out the lightsome coulours of
affection, shaded with the
deepest
shadowes of sorrow, finding them betweene hope and feare, a kind of
sweetenes in teares: til Philoclea content to receaue a kisse,
and but
a kisse of Pyrocles, sealed vp with mouing lippes, and closed
them vp in comfort: and herselfe (for the
passage was left betweene them open) went to her sister: with whom she
had stayed but a while, fortifying one another (while Philoclea
tempered Pamelas iust disdaine, and Pamela ennobled Philocleas
sweete
humblenesse) when Amphialus came vnto them: who neuer since he
had
heard Philoclea named, coulde bee quiet in himselfe, although
none of
them about him (fearing more his mothers violence the his power) would
discouer what had passed: and many messages he sent to know her
estate, which brought answere backe, according as it pleased Cecropiato
indite them, till his hart full of vnfortunate affliction, more and
more misgiuing him, hauing impatiently borne the delay of the nights
vnfitnesse, this morning he gat vp, and though full of wounds (which
not without daunger could suffer such exercise) he apparelled himselfe,
and with a countenance, that shewed strength in nothing but in griefe,
he came where the sisters were; and weakely kneeling downe, he besought
them to pardon him, if they had not bene vsed in that castle according
to their worthines, arid his duetie; beginning to excuse small matters,
poore Gentleman, not knowing in what sort they had bene handled.
But Pamelaes
hye hart (hauing conceiued mortall hate for the iniurie
offred to her and her sister) coulde scarcely abide his sight, much
lesse heare out his excuses; but interrupted him with these words.
Traitor (said she) to thine owne blood, and false to the profession of
so much loue as thou hast vowed, doo not defile our eares with thy
excuses; but pursue on thy crueltie, that thou and thy godly mother
haue vsed towards vs: for my part, assure thy self, and so do I answere
for my sister (whose mind I know) I do not more desire mine owne
safetie then thy destruction. Amazed with this speech, he turned his
eye, ful of humble sorrowfulnesse, to Philoclea. And is this
(most
excellent Ladie) your doome of me also? She, sweete Ladie, sate
weeping: for as her most noble kinsman she had euer fauoured him, &
loued his loue, though she could not be in loue with his person; and
now partly vnkindnes of his wrong, partly pittie of his case, made her
sweete minde yeelde some teares, before she could answere; and her
answere was no other, but that she had the same cause as her sister
had. He replyed no further, but deliuering from his hart two or three
(vntaught) sighes, rose, and with most low reuerence went out of their
chamber: and streight by
threatning torture, learned of one of the women, in what terrible
manner those Princesses had bene vsed. But when he heard it, crying
out, O God; and then not able to say any more (for his speech went
backe to rebounde woe vpon his hart) he needed no iudge to goe vpon
him: for no man could euer thinke any otherworthy of greater
punishme[n]t,
the[n] he thought himselfe.
Ful
therefore of the horriblest
despaire, which a most guiltie conscience could breed, with wild lookes
promising some terrible issue, vnderstanding his mother was on the
toppe of the leades, he caught one of his seruants swords from him, and
none of them daring to stay him, he went vp, carried by furie, in
steede of strength; where she was at that time, musing how to goe
thorough with this matter, and resoluing to make much of her Neeces in
shew, and secreatly to impoison them; thinking since they were not to
be wonne, her sonnes loue woulde no otherwise be mitigated.
But when she sawe him come in
with a sworde drawne, and a looke more terrible then the sworde, she
streight was stricke
with the guiltines of her own
conscience: yet the
wel known humblenes of her son somwhat animated her, till he, comming
nearer her, and crying to her, Thou damnable creature, onely fit to
bring forth such a monster of vnhappines as I am; she fearing he would
haue stricken her (though indeed he meant it not, but onely intended to
kill himselfe in her presence) went backe so far, til ere she were
aware, she ouerthrew her selfe from ouer the Leades, to receaue her
deathes kisse at the ground: and yet was she not so happie as
presently to dye, but that she had time with hellish agonie to see her
sonnes mischiefe (whom she loued so well) before her end; when she
confest (with most desperate, but not repe[n]ting mind) the purpose she
had
to impoison the princesses, & would then haue had them murthred.
But euerie bodie seing, and glad to see her end, had left obedience to
her tyranny.
And (if it
could be) her ruine
increased woe in the noble hart of Amphialus,
who when he saw her fal,
had his owne rage stayed a little with the soddennes of her
destruction. And was I not enough miserable before (said he) but that
before my end I must be the death of my mother? who how wicked so euer,
yet I would she had receaued her punishme[n]t by some other. O Amphialus)
wretched Amphialus; thou hast liued to be the death of thy most
deere
co[m]panion & friend Philoxenus, and of his father, thy
most carefull
fosterfather. Thou hast liued to kill a Ladie with thine owne handes,
and so excellent, and vertuous a Lady, as the faire Parthenia
was: thou
hast liued to see thy faithfull Ismenus slaine in succouring
thee, and
thou not able to defende him: thou hast liued to shew thy selfe such a
coward, as that one vnknowne Knight could ouercome thee in thy Ladies
presence: thou hast liued to beare armes against thy rightfull Prince,
thine owne vnckle: Thou hast liued to be accounted, and iustly
accounted, a traitor, by the most excellent persons, that this world
holdeth: Thou hast liued to bee the death of her, that gaue thee life.
But ah wretched Amphialus, thou hast liued for thy sake, and by
thy
authoritie, to haue Philoclea tormented: O heauens, in Amphialus
castle, where Amphialus commaunded; tormented, tormented?
torment of
my soule, Philoclea tormented: and thou hast had such comfort
in thy
life, as to liue all this while. Perchance this hande (used onely to
mischieuous actes) thinkes it were too good a deede to kill me[n]; or
else
filthy hande, onely woorthy to kill women, thou art afraide to strike a
man. Feare not cowardly hand, for thou shall kill but a cowardly
traitor: and doo it gladlie; for thou shalt kill him, whome Philoclea
hateth. With that, furiously he tare open his doublet, and setting the
pommell of the sworde to the grounde, and the point to his brest, hee
fell vpon it. But the sworde more mercifull then hee to himselfe, with
the slipping of the pommell, the point swarued, and razed him but vpon
the side: yet with the fall, his other wounds opened so, as hee bledde
in such extremitie, that Charons boate might verie well be
carried in
that flood: which yet he sought to hasten by this meanes. As he opened
his dublet, and fell, there fell out Philocleas kniues, which Cecropia
at the first had taken from her, and deliuered to her sonne; and he had
euer worne them next his hart, as the only relique he had of his Saint:
now seeing them by him, (his sword being so, as weakenes could not well
draw it out from his doublette) he tooke the kniues, and pulling one of
them out, and many times kissing it, and then, first with the passions
of kindnes, and vnkindncs, melting in teares, O deare kniues, you are
come in a good time, to reuenue the wrong; I haue done you all this
while, in
keeping you from her blessed side, and wearing; you without your
mistresse leaue. Alas, be witnes with me, yet before I die, (and well
you may, for you haue layn next my hart) that by my consent, your
excellent mistresse should haue had as much honour, as this poore place
could haue brought foorth, for so high an excellencie; and now I am
condemned to die by her mouth. Alas, other, far other hope would my
desire often haue giuen me: but other euent it hath pleased her to lay
vpon me. Ah Philoclea (with that his teares gushed out, as
though they
would striue to ouerflow his bloud) I would yet thou knewest how I loue
thee. Vnworthie I am, vnhappie I am, false I am; but to thee, alas, I
am not false. But what a traitor am I, any way to excuse him, whom she
condemneth? Since there is nothing left me, wherein I may do her
seruice, but in punishing him, who hath so offended her. Deare knife,
then doo your noble mistresses commaundement. With that, he stabbed
himselfe into diuers places of his breast, and throte, vntill those
wounds (with the old, freshly bleeding) brought him to the senselesse
gate of Death.
By which
time, his seruants
hauing (with feare of his furie) abstained a while from comming vnto
him, one of them (preferring duetifull affection before fearfull
duetie) came in, and there found him swimming in his owne bloud, there
giuing a pittiful spectacle, where the conquest was the conquerors
ouerthrow, and self-ruine the onely triumph of a battaile, fought
betweene him, and himselfe. The time full of danger, the person full of
worthines, the maner full of horror, did greatlie astonish all the
beholders; so as by and by, all the town was full of it, and then of
all ages came running vp to see the beloued body; euery body thinking,
their safetie bledde in his woundes, and their honor died in his
destruction.
CHAP.
25.
1 Anaxius-his rages for the
death 2, Queen Helens comming
for the cure of Amphialus. 3 Her
complaints ouer him.
4 Her pasport and safeconduct, to
carrie him to her Chirur-
gion. 5 The peoples sorow, 6 set
downe in a song.
Vt when it came, (and quickly it came)
to the eares of his proude
friende Anaxius, (who by that time was
growe[n] well of his wou[n]d,
but
neuer had come abroad, disdayning to abase himselfe to the companie of
any other but of Amphialus) he was exceedingly vexed, either
with
kindnes, or (if a proud hart be not capable therof) with disdaine, that
he, who had the honor to be called the frend of Anaxius,
should come to
such an vnexpected ruine. Therfore, then comming abroad, with a face
red
in anger, and engrained in pride, with liddes raysed vp, and eyes
leuelling from toppe to the toe of them that met him, treading, as
though he thought to make the earth shake vnder him, with his hande
vpon his sword; short speeches, and disdainfull answeres, giuing
streight order to his two brothers, to goe take the oath of obedience,
in his name, of all the souldiers, and Citizens in the towne: and
withall, to sweare them to reuenge the death of Amphialus, vpon
Basilius. He himself went to see him, calling for all the
surgeons
& physicions there; spending some time in vewing the body, and
threatning them all to be hanged, if they did not heale him. But they
(taking view of his woundes, and falling down at Anaxius feete)
assured
him, that they were mortall, & no possible meanes to keep him aboue
two dayes aliue: and he stood partly in doubt, to kil, or saue them,
betweene his own furie, and their humblenes. But vowing, with his owne
hands to kill the two sisters, as causers of his friends death: when
his brothers came to him, & told him they had done his
commaundement, in hauing receaued the oath of allegeance, with no great
difficultie: the most part terrified by their valure, & force of
their seruants, & many that had bene forward actors in the
rebellion, willing to do any thing, rather then come vnder the
subiection of Basilius againe; and such fewe as durst gainesay,
being
cut of by present slaughter.
But withall
(as the chiefe matter of their comming to him) they told Anaxius,
that the faire Queen Helen was come, with an
honorable retinue, to the towne: hu[m]blie desiring leaue to see Amphialus,
who she had sought in many places of the world;
&
lastly, being returned into her owne countrie, she heard together of
the late siege and of his combat with the strange Knight, who had
dangerously hurt him. Wherupon, full of louing care (which she was
content euen to publish to the world, how vngratefully soeuer he dealt
with her) she had gotten leaue of Basilius, to come by his
frontiers,
to cary away Amphialus with her, to the excellentest surgeon
then
knowen, whom she had in her Countrey, but so olde, as not able to
trauaile: but had giuen her soueraigne annointments, to preserue his
body withal, till he might be brought vnto him: and that Basilius
had
graunted leaue: either naturall kindnes preuailing ouer all the
offences done, or rather glad to make any passage, which might leade
him out of his countrie, and from his daughters. This discourse Lycurgus
vnderstanding of Helene, deliuered to his brother, with
her
vehement desire to see the body, and take her last farewell of him. Anaxius,
though he were fallen out with all womankind (in respect of
the hate he bare the sisters, whom he accounted murtherers of Amphialus)
yet at his brothers request, graunted her leaue.
And she
(poore Lady) with grieuous expectation, and languishing desire, caried
her faint legs to the place where he lay, ether not breathing, or in
all appearance breathing but death.
In which
pittious plight when she
saw him, though Sorow had set before her minde the pittifullest conceit
thereof that it could paint, yet the present sight went beyonde all
former apprehensions: so that beginning to kneele by the bodie, her
sight ranne from her seruice, rather then abide such a sight; and she
fell in a soune vpon him, as if she could not choose but die of his
wounds. But when her breath (aweary to be closed vp in woe) broke the
prison of her faire lippes, and brought memorie (with his seruaunt
senses) to his naturall office, she yet made the breath conuey these
dolefull wordes with it. Alas (said she) Amphialus, what
strange
diseases be these, that hauing sought thee so long, I should be now
sorie to finde thee? that these eyes should looke vpon Amphialus,
and
be grieued withall? that I should haue thee in my power without glory,
and embrace thee without comfort? How often haue I blest the means that
might bring me neer thee? Now, woe worth the cause that brings me so
neer thee. Often, alas, often hast thou disdained my teares: but now,
my deare Amphialus, receiue them: these eies can serue for
nothing
else, but weepe for thee; since thou wouldest neuer vouchsafe them thy
comforte, yet disdaine not them thy sorrowe. I would they had bene more
deare vnto thee; for then hadst thou liued. Woe is me that thy noble
harte could loue who hated thee, and hate who loued thee. Alas, why
should not my faith to thee couer my other defects, who only sought to
make my Crowne thy foote-stoole, my selfe thy seruaunt? that was all my
ambition; and alas thou disdainedst it to serue them, by whom thy
incomparable selfe were disdained. Yet (ô Philoclea)
wheresoeuer you
are, pardon me, if I speake in the bitternes of my soule, excellent may
you be in all other things (and excellent sure you are since he loued
you) your want of pittie, where the fault onely was infinitenesse of
desert, cannot be excused. I would, O God, I would that you had
graunted his deserued suite of marrying you, and that I had bene your
seruing-maide, to haue made my estate the foile of your felicitie, so
he had liued. How many weary steps haue I trodden after thee, while my
onely complaint was, that thou werte vnkinde? Alas I would now thou
werte, to be vnkind. Alas why wouldest thou not com[m]aund my seruice,
in
persuading Philoclea to loue thee? who could, or (if euery one
could)
who would haue recounted thy perfections so well, as I? who with such
kindly passions could haue stirred pittie for thee as I? who should
haue deliuered not onely the wordes but the teares I had of thee? and
so shouldest thou haue exercised thy disdaine in me, and yet vsed my
seruice for thee.
With that the body mouing somewhat, and giuing a grone full of deaths
musicke, she fell vpon his face, & kist him, and with all cried
out. O miserable I, that haue onely fauour by miserie: and then, would
she haue returned to a fresh careere of complaints, when an aged and
wise Gentleman came to her, and besought her, to remember what was fit
for her greatnesse, wisdome, & honour: and with al, that it was
fitter to shew her loue, in carying the body to her excellent Surgeon,
first applying such excellent medicines as she had receiued of him for
that purpose, rather then onely shew her selfe a woman-louer in
fruitles lame[n]tations. She was streight warned with the obedience of
an ouerthrowen mind, and therefore leauing some surgeons of her
owne to dresse the body, went her selfe to Anaxius, &
humbling her
selfe to him, as lowe as his owne pride could wish, besought him, that
since the surgeons there had vtterly giuen him ouer, that he would let
her carrie him away in her litter with her, since the worst he could
haue should be to die, and to die in her armes that loued him aboue al
things; & where he should haue such monuments erected ouer him, as
were fit for her loue, & his worthines: beseeching him withall,
since she was in a country of enemies (where she trusted more to Anaxius
valour, then Basilius promise) that he would conuey them safely
out of those territories. Her reasons something moued him, but nothing
thoroughly perswaded him, but the last request of his helpe: which he
straight promised, warra[n]ting all securitie, as long as that sword
had
his master aliue. She as happy therein as vnhappines could be (hauing
receiued as small co[m]fort of her owne surgeons as of the others)
caused
yet the body to be easily conueyed into the litter: all the people then
beginning to roare and crie, as though neuer till then they had lost
their Lorde. And if the terrour of Anaxius had not kept them
vnder,
they would haue mutinied, rather then suffered his bodie to be caried
away.
But Anaxius
him selfe riding
before the litter, with the choyce men of that place, they were affraid
euen to crie, though they were readie to crie for feare: but (because
that they might doo) euery bodie forced (euen with harming themselues)
to doo honour to him: some throwing themselues vpon the grounde; some
tearing their clothes, and casting duste vpon their heades, and some
euen wounding themselues, and sprinkling their owne bloud in the aire.
Among the rest, one accounted good in that kinde, and made the better
by the true feeling of sorrowe, roared out a song of Lamentation, which
(as well as might be) was gathered vp in this forme.
SInce that to death is gone the shepheard
hie,
Whom most
the silly
shepheards pipe did pryse,
Your dolefull tunes sweete Muses now applie.
And you ô trees (if any life there lies
In trees) now through your porous barkes
receaue
The straunge resounde of these my causefull cries:
And let my breath vpon your braunches leaue,
My breath distinguish'd
into wordes of woe,
That so I may signes of my sorrowe leaue.
But if among yourselues some one tree growe,
That aptest is to figure miserie,
Let it embassage beare your grieues to showe.
The weeping Myrrhe I thinke will not denie
Her helps to this, this
iustest cause of plaint.
Your dolefull tunes sweet Muses now applie.
And thou poore Earth, whom fortune doth attaint
In Natures name to
suffer such a harme,
As for to loose thy gemme, and such a
Sainct,
Vpon thy face let coaly Rauens swarme:
Let all the Sea thy teares accounted be:
Thy bowels with all killing mettals arme.
Let golde now rust, let Diamonds waste in thee:
Let pearls be wan with woe their damme doth beare;
Thy selfe henceforth the light doo neuer
see.
And you, ô flowers, which sometimes Princes were,
Till these straunge
altrings you did hap to trie,
Of Princes losse your selues for tokens
reare.
Lilly in mourning blacke thy whitenes die:
O Hiacinthe let Ai be
on thee still.
Your dolefull
tunes sweet Muses now applie.
O Echo, all these woods with roaring fill,
And doo not onely
marks the
accents last,
But all, for all
reach out my wailefull will:
One Echo to another Echo cast
Sounde of my
griefes, and let it neuer ende,
Till that it hath
all woods and waters past.
Nay to the heau'ns your iust complaining sende,
And stay
the starrs inconstant constant race,
Till that they
doo vnto our
dolours bende:
And aske the reason of that speciall grace,
That they, which
haue no liues, should liue so long,
And vertuous
soules so soone should loose their place?
Aske, if in great men good men doo so thronge,
That he for want
of
elbowe roome must die?
Or if that they
be skante, if this be wronge?
Did Wisedome this our wretched time espie
In one true chest
to rob all
Vertues treasure?
Your dohfull
tunes sweete Muses now applie.
And if that any counsell you to measure
Your dolefull tunes, to
them still playning say,
To well felte griefe, plainte is the onely pleasure.
O light of Sunne, which is entitled day,
O well thou doost that thou no longer bidest;
For mourning light her blacke weedes may display.
O Phœbus with good cause thy face thou bidest,
Rather then haue thy
all-beholding eye
Fould with this sight, while thou thy chariot guidest.
And well (me thinks) becomes this vaultie skie
A stately tombe to couer him deceased.
Your dolefull tunes sweet Muses now
applie.
O Philomela with thy brest oppressed
By shame and griefe,
helpe, helpe me to lament
Such cursed harmes as cannot be
redressed.
Or if thy mourning notes be fully spent,
Then giue a quiet eare vnto my playning:
For I to teach the world complainte am
bent.
You dimmy clowdes, which well employ your stayning
This cheerefull aire with your obscured
cheere,
Witnesse your wofull teares with daily
rayning.
And if, ô Sunne, thou euer didst appeare,
In shape, which by mans eye might be perceiued;
Vertue is dead, now set thy triumph here.
Now set thy triumph in this world, bereaued
Of what was good, where now no good doth lie;
And by thy pompe our losse will be
conceaued.
O notes of mine your selues together tie:
With too much griefe me thinkes you are
dissolued.
Your dolefull tunes sweete Muses now
applie.
Time euer old, and yonge is still reuolued
Within it selfe, and
neuer tasteth ende:
But mankind is for aye to nought
resolued.
The filthy snake her aged coate can mende,
And getting youth againe, in youth doth flourish:
But vnto Man, age euer death doth sende.
The very trees with grafting we can cherish,
So that we can long time
produce their time:
But Man which helpeth them, helplesse
must perish.
Thus, thus the mindes, which ouer all doo clime,
When they by yeares
experience get best graces,
Must finish then by deaths detested
crime.
We last short while, and build long lasting places:
Ah let vs
all against foule Nature crie:
We Natures workes doo helpe, she vs
defaces.
For how can Nature vnto this reply?
That she her child, I say, her best child killeth?
Your dolefull tunes sweete Muses
now apply.
Alas, me thinkes, my weakned voice but spilleth,
The vehement course of
this iust lamentation:
Me thinkes, my sound no place with
sorrow
filleth,
I know not I, but once in detestation
I haue my selfe, and all what life containeth,
Since Death on Vertues fort hath made
inuasion.
One word of woe another after traineth:
Ne doo I care how rude be my inuention,
So it be seene what sorrow in me
raigneth.
O Elements, by whose (men say) contention,
Our bodies be in liuing
power maintained,
Was this mans death the fruite of your
dissention?
O Phisickes power, which (some say) hath restrained
Approch of death,
alas thou helpest meagerly,
When once one is for Atropos distrained.
Great be Physitions brags, but aid is beggerly,
When rooted moisture
failes, or groweth drie,
They leaue off al, and say, death comes
too
eagerlie.
They are but words therefore that men do buy,
Of any since God Æsculapius
ceased.
Your dolefull
tunes sweete Muses now applie.
Iustice, iustice
is now (alas) oppressed:
Bountifulnes hath made his last conclusion:
Goodnes for best attire in dust is
dressed.
Shepheards bewaile your
vttermost confusion;
And see by this
picfure to you presented,
Death is our home, life is but a
delusion.
For see alas, who is from
you absented?
Absented? nay I say for euer
banished
From such as were to dye for him
contented?
Out of our sight in turne of
hand is vanished
Shepherd of shepherds,
whose well setled order
Priuate with welth, publike with quiet
garnished.
While he did liue, farre,
farre was all disorder;
Example more
preuailing then direction,
Far was homestrife, and far was foe from
border.
His life a law, his looke a
full correction:
As in his health we
healthfull were preserued,
So in his sicknesse grew our sure
infection.
His death our death. But ah;
my Muse hath swarued,
From such deepe plaint as should such
woes descrie,
Which he of vs for
euer hath deserued.
The stile of heauie hart can
neuer flie
So high, as should make such a paine notorious:
Cease Muse therfore: thy dart ô
Death applie;
And farewell Prince, whom
goodnesse hath made glorious.
CHAP.
26.
l The publike griefe
amplified. 2 Anaxius death-threatning
to the
Princesses. 3 Their resolutenes in it. 4 His returne,
and stop. 5 Zelmanes braue challenge vnto him
6 scorned
by him. 7 His loue to
Pamela scorned by her. 8 His bro-
thers braue loues haue as meane
successe.
He general consort of al such numbers
mourning, perfourmed
so the naturall times of sorrow; that euen to
them (if any such were)
that felt not the losse, yet others grief taught them griefe; hauing
before their compassionate sense so passionate a spectacle, of a young
man, of great beautie, beautified with great honour, honored by great
valure, made of inestimable valure, by the noble vsing of it, to lye
there languishing, vnder the arrest of death, and a death, where the
manner could be no comfort to the discomfortablenes of the matter. But
when the bodie was carried thorough the gate, and the people (sauing
such as were appointed) not suffred to goe further, then was such an
vniuersal crie, as if they had all had but one life, and all receiued
but one blow.
Which so moued Anaxius to consider the losse
of his friend, that (his
minde apter to reuenge, then tendernesse) he presently
giuing order to
his brother to keepe the prisoners safe, and vnuisited, till his
retourne from coueying Helen, he sent a messenger to the
sisters, to
tel them this curteous message: that at his retourne, with his owne
hands, he would cut off their heads, and send them for tokens to their
father.
This message was brought vnto the sisters, as they
sate at that time
together with Zelmane, conferring how to carrie themselues,
hauing
heard of the death of Amphialus. And as no expectation of death
is so
painfull, as where the resolution is,, hindred by the intermixing of
hopes, so did this new alarum, though not remoue, yet moue somwhat the
co[n]stancy of their minds, which were so vnconstantly dealt with. But
within a while, the excellent Pamela had brought her minde
againe to
his old acquaintance: and then, as carefull for her sister (whom most
deerely she loued) Sister (said she) you see how many acts our Tragedy
hath: Fortune is not yet a wearie of vexing vs: but what? A shippe is
not counted strong for byding one storme? It is but the same trumpet of
death, which now perhaps giues the last sounde: and let vs make that
profile of our former miseries, that in them we learned to dye
willingly. Truely said Philoclea, deare sister, I was so beaten
with
the euils of life, that though I had not vertue enough to despise the
sweetnesse of it, yet my weaknesse bredde that strength, to be wearie
of the paines of it: onely I must confesse, that little hope, which by
these late accidents was awaked in me, was at the first angrie withall.
But euen in the darkenesse of that horrour, I see a light of comfort
appeare; and how can I treade amisse, that see Pamelas steppes?
I would
onely (O that my wish might take place) that my schoole-Mistres might
liue, to see me say my lesson truely. Were that a life, my Philoclea?
said Pamela. No, no, (said she) let it come, and put on his
worst face:
for at the worst it is but a bug-beare. Ioy is it to me to see you so
well resolued; and since the world will not haue vs, let it lose vs.
Onely (with that she stayed a little, and sight) onely my Philoclea,
(then she bowed downe, and whispered in her eare) onely Musidorus,
my shepheard, comes betweene me and death, and makes
me thinke I should not dye, because I know he would not I should dye.
With that Philoclea sighed also, saying no more, but looking
vpon Zelmane: who was walking vp & downe the chamber,
hauing
heard this
message from Anaxius, and hauing in times past heard of his
nature,
thought him like enough to performe it, which winded her againe into
the former maze of perplexitie. Yet debating with her selfe of the
manner how to preuent it, she continued her musing humour, little
saying, or indeed, little finding in her hart to say, in a case of such
extremitie, where peremptorily death was threatned: and so stayed they;
hauing yet that comfort, that they might tarrie togither. Pamela
nobly, Philoclea sweetly, and Zelmane sadly, and
desperately none of them
entertaining sleepe, which they thought should shortly begin, neuer to
awake.
But Anaxius
came home, hauing
safely conducted Helen: and safely he might wel do it: For
though many
of Basilius Knights would haue attempted something vpon Anaxius,
by
that meanes to deliuer the Ladies, yet Philanax,
hauing receiued his
masters commadement, & knowing his word was giue[n], would not
co[n]sent vnto it. And the black-Knight (who by the was able to carie
abroad his
wou[n]ds) did not know therof; but was bringing forces, by force to
deliuer his Lady. So as Anaxius, interpreting it rather feare,
then
faith, and making euen chance an argument of his vertue, returned: and
as soone as he was returned, with a felon hart calling his brothers vp
with him, he went into the chamber, where they were all three togither;
with full intention to kill the sisters with his owne hands, and send
their heads for tokens to their father: Though his brothers (who were
otherwise inclined) disswaded him: but his reuerence stayed their
perswasions. But when he was come into the chamber, with the very
words of cholerike threatning climing vp his throate, his eies first
lighted vpon Pamela; who hearing he was comming, and looking
for death,
thought she would keepe her owne maiestie in welcomming it; but the
beames thereof so strake his eyes, with such a counterbuffe vnto his
pride, that if his anger could not so quickly loue, nor his pride so
easily honor, yet both were forced to finde a worthinesse.
Which while it bred a pause in him, Zelmane
(who had ready in her mind both what and how to say) stept out vnto
him, &
with a resolute stayednes (void either of anger, kindnes, disdaine, or
humblenesse) spake in this sort. Anaxius (said she) if Fame
haue not
bene ouerpartiall to thee, thou art a man of exceeding valour.
Therefore I doo call thee euen before that vertue, and will make it the
iudge betweene vs. And now I doo affirme, that to the eternall blot of
all the faire actes that thou hast done, thou doest weakly, in seeking
without daunger to reuenge his death, whose life [with] daunger thou
mightst perhaps haue preserued: thou doost cowardly, in going about by
the death of these excellent Ladies, to preuent the iust punishme[n]t,
that hereafter they by the powers, which they better then their father,
or any other could make, might lay vpon thee; and doost most basely, in
once presenting thy selfe as an executioner; a vile office vpon men,
and in a iust cause: beyond the degree of any vile worde, in so vniust
a cause, and vpon Ladies, and such Ladies. And therefore, as a hangman,
I say, thou art vnworthy to be counted a Knight, or to be admitted into
the companie of Knights. Neither for what, I say, will I alleadge other
reasons, of wisdome, or iustice, to prooue my speech, because I know
thou doost disdaine to be tied to their rules: but euen in thine owne
vertue (whereof thou so much gloriest) I will make my triall: and
therefore defie thee, by the death of one of vs two, to proue, or
disproue these reproaches. Choose thee what armes thou likest, I onely
demaund, that these Ladies (whom I defend) may in liberty see the
combat.
When Zelmane began her speech, the
excellency of her beautie, and
grace, made him a little content to heare. Besides that, a new lesson
he had read in Pamela, had already taught him some regard. But
when she
entered into brauerie of speech, he thought at first, a mad, and
railing humor possest her; till, finding the speeches hold well
together, and at length corne to flatte challenge of combat; he stood
leaning back with his bodie and head, sometimes with bent browes
looking vpon the one side of her, sometimes of the other, beyonde
maruell marvailing, that he, who had neuer heard such speeches from any
Knight, should be thus rebuffed by a woman; and that maruell made him
heare out her speech: which ended, he turned his head to his brother Zoilus,
and said nothing, but onely lifting vp his eyes, smiled. But Zelmane
finding his minde, Anaxius (said she) perchaunce thou
disdaynest to answere me, because,
as a woman, thou thinkest me not fitte to be fought withall. But I tell
thee, that I haue bene trayned vp in martial matters, with so good
successe, that I haue many times ouercome better Knightes then thy
selfe: and am well knowen to be equall in feates of armes, to the
famous Pyrocles, who slewe thy valiaunt Vncle, the Giant Euardes.
The
remembraunce of his Vncles death something netled him, so as he
answered thus.
Indeed (saide he) any woman may be as valiaunt as
that coward, and
traytorly boy, who slewe my Vncle trayterouslie, and after ranne from
me in the plaine field. Fiue thousand such could not haue ouercome Euardes,
but by falshood. But I sought him all ouer Asia, following him
still from one of his cony-holes to another: till, comming into this
Countrie, I heard of my friendes being besieged, and so came to blowe
away the wretches that troubled him. But wheresoeuer the miserable boy
flie, heauen, nor hell, shall keep his harte from being torne by these
handes. Thou lyest in thy throate (said Zelmane) that boye,
where euer
he went, did so noble actes, as thy harte (as proude as it is) dares
not thinke of, much lesse perfourme. But to please thee the better with
my presence, I tell thee, no creature can be neerer of kinne to him,
then my selfe: and so well we loue, that he woulde not be sorrier for
his owne death, then for mine: I being begotten by his father, of an Amazon
Ladie. And therefore, thou canst not deuise to reuenge thy
selfe
more vpon him, then by killing me: which, if thou darest doo manfullie,
doo it; otherwise, if thou harme these incomparable Ladies, or my
selfe, without daring to fight with me, I protest before these
Knightes, and before heauen, and earth, (that will reueale thy shame)
that thou art the beggerliest dastardly villaine, that dishonoureth the
earth with his steppes: and if thou lettest me ouer-liue them, so will
I blaze thee. But all this could not moue Anaxius, but that he
onely
said, euill should it become the terror of the world, to fight, much
lesse to skolde with thee.
But (said he) for the death of
these same (pointing to the Princesses) of my grace, I giue them life.
And withall, going to
Pamela, and offring to
take her by the chin, And
as for you, Minion (said he) yeeld but gently to my will, and you shall
not only
liue, but liue so happely, He would haue said further, whe[n] Pamela,
displeased both with words, matter, and maner, putting him away with
her faire hand, Proud beast (said she) yet thou plaiest worse thy
Comedy, then thy Tragedy. For my part, assure thy selfe, since my
destiny is such, that at ech moment my life & death stand in equall
balance, I had rather haue thee, & think thee far fitter to be my
hangman, then my husband. Pride & anger, would faine haue cruelly
reue[n]ged so bitter an answer, but alredy Cupid had begun to
make it
his sport, to pull his plumes: so that, vnused to a way of courtesie,
and put out of his byas of pride, he hastily went away, grumbling to
himselfe, betwene threatning & wishing; leauing his brothers with
the[m]: the elder of whom, Lycurgus, liked Philoclea,
& Zoilus would
nedes loue Zelmane; or at lest, entertain themselues with
making the[m]
beleue so. Lycurgus more braggard, & nere his brothers
humor, bega[n],
with setting foorth their bloud, their deedes, how many they had
despised, of most excellent wome[n]; how much they were bou[n]d to
them, that
would seek that of them. In summe, in all his speeches, more like the
bestower, then the desirer of felicitie. Whom it was an excellent
pastime (to those that would delight in the play of vertue) to see,
with what a wittie ignorance she would not vnderstand: and how,
acknowledging his perfections, she would make, that one of his
perfections, not to be iniurio[u]s to Ladies. But when he knew not how
to
replie, then would he fall to touching and toying, still vewing his
graces in no glasse but self-liking. To which, Philocleas
shamefastnes,
and humblenes, were as strong resisters, as choller, and disdaine. For
though she yeelded not, he thought she was to be ouercome: and that
thought a while stayed him from further violence. But Zelmane
had eye
to his behauiour, and set in her memorie, vpon the score of Reuenge,
while she her selfe was no lesse attempted by Zoilus; who lesse
full of
bragges, was forwardest in offering (indeed) dishonourable violence.
CHAP.
27.
.
1 Zelmanes perswasions to
temporize, and referre them to
Basilius. 2
Anaxius-his embassage to treate the mari-
age. 3 Basilius recourse to a
newe Oracle, 4 and his nega-
tiue thereon. 5 The flattering relation of
his Mercurie.
6 The brothers course to resist force without,
and vse
force
within.
Vt when after their fruitlesse labours
they had gone away, called by
their brother, (who began to be perplexed
betweene new conceaued
desires, and disdaine, to be disdained) Zelmane (who with most
assured
quietnesse of iudgement looked into their present estate) earnestly
perswaded the two sisters, that to auoide the mischiefes of prowde
outrage, they would onely so farre sute their behauiour to their
estates, as they might winne time; which as it could not bring them to
worse case then they were, so it might bring forth inexpected relief.
And why (said Pamela) shal we any longer flatter aduersity? Why
should
we delight to make our selues any longer balls to iniurious Fortune,
since our owne kinne are content traitorously to abuse vs? Certainely,
in mishap it may be some comforte to vs, that we are lighted in these
fellowes handes, who yet will keepe vs from hauing cause of being
miserable by our friends meanes. Nothing grieues me more, then that
you, noble Ladie Zelmane (to whome the worlde might haue made
vs able
to doo honour) shoulde receaue onely hurte by the contagion of our
miserie. As for me, and my sister, vndoubtedly it becomes our birth to
thinke of dying nobly, while we haue done, or suffered nothing, which
might make our
soule ashamed at the parture
from these bodies. Hope is
the fawning traitour of the minde, while vnder colour of friendship, it
robbes it of his chiefe force of resolution. Vertuous and faire Ladie
(said Zelmane) what you say is true; and that truth may well
make vp a
part in the harmonie of your noble thoughts. But yet the time (which
ought alwaies to be one) is not tuned for it; while that may bring
foorth any good, doo not barre your selfe thereof: for then would be
the time to die nobly, when you ca[n] not liue nobly. Then so earnestly
she persuaded with them both, to referre themselues to their fathers
consent (in obtayning whereof they knewe some while would be spent) and
by that meanes to temper the
mindes of their prowde woers; that in the ende Pamela yeelded
to her,
because she spake reason; and Philoclea yeelded to her reason,
because
she spake it.
And so when
they were againe sollicited in that little pleasing
petition, Pamela forced her selfe to make answere to Anaxius,
that if
her father gaue his consent she would make her selfe belieue, [t]hat
such
was the heauenly determination, since she had no meanes to auoide it. Anaxius
(who was the most franke promiser to him selfe of successe)
nothing doubted of Basilius consent, but rather assured him
selfe, he
would be his oratour in that matter: And therefore he chose out an
officious seruaunt (whome he esteemed very wise, because he neuer found
him but iust of his opinion) and willed him to be his embassadour to Basilius,
and to make him knowe, that if he meant to haue his daughter
both safe and happie, and desired him selfe to haue such a sonne in
lawe, as would not onely protect him in his quiet course, but (if he
listed to accept it) would giue him the monarchy of the worlde, that
then he should receaue Anaxius, who neuer before knewe what it
was to
pray any thing. That if he did not, he would make him know, that the
power of Anaxius was in euery thing beyonde his will, and yet
his will
not to be resisted by any other power. His seruaunt with smiling and
caste-vp looke, desired God to make his memorie able to containe the
treasure of that wise speach: and therefore besought him to repeate it
againe, that by the oftener hearing it, his mind might be the better
acquainted with the diuinenesse therof, and that being gratiously
granted, he then doubted not by carying with him in his conceit, the
grace wherewith Anaxius spake it, to persuade rocky minds to
their owne
harme: so little doubted he to win Basilius to that, which he
thought
would make him thinke the heauens opened, when he harde but the proffer
thereof. Anaxius grauely allowed the probabilitie of his
coniecture,
and therefore sent him away, promising him he should haue the bringing
vp of his second sonne by Pamela.
The messenger with speede
perfourmed his Lords
commaundement to Basilius, who by nature quiet, and by
superstition
made doubtfull, was lothe to take any matter of armes in hand, wherin
already he had found so slowe successe; though Philanax
vehemently vrged him therunto, making him see that his
retiring back did encourage iniuries. But Basilius betwixt the
feare of Anaxius might, the passio[n] of his loue, &
iealousie of his estate,
was so perplexed, that not able to determine, he tooke the com[m]on
course
of me[n], to flie only the[n] to deuotio[n], whe[n] they want
resolutio[n]: so
detaining the messeger with delaies, he deferred the directing of his
course to the cousell of Apollo, which because himself at that
time
could not well go to require, he entrusted the matter to his best
trusted Philanax: who (as one in whom obedience was a
sufficient reason vnto him) wente with diligence to Delphos,
where being entred into the
secrete place of the temple, and hauing performed the sacrifices
usuall, the spirite that possest the pro[p]hesying woman, with a sacred
fury, attended not his demaund, but as if it would argue him of
incredulitie, tolde him, not in darke wonted speeches, but plainely to
be vnderstood, what he came for, and that he should returne to Basilius,
and will him to denie his daughters to Anaxius
and his
brothers, for that they were reserued for such as were better beloued
of the gods. That he should not doubte, for they should returne vnto
him safely and speedily. And that he should keepe on his solitary
course, till bothe Philanax and Basilius fully agreed
in the vnderstanding of the former prophecie: withall, commaunding Philanax
from thence forward to giue tribute, but not oblation, to humane
wisedome.
Philanax then finding that reason cannot shewe
it self
more reasonable, then to leaue reasoning in things aboue reason,
returnes to his Lorde, and like one that preferred truth before the
maintaining of an opinion, hidde nothing from him, nor from thence
foorth durste any more disswade him, from that which he founde by the
celestiall prouidence directed; but he him selfe looking to repayre the
gouernment as much as in so broken an estate by ciuill dissencion he
might, and fortifying with notable arte, bothe the lodges, so as they
were almost made vnaprochable, he lefte Basilius to bemone the
absence
of his daughters, and to bewayle the imprisonment of Zelmane:
yet wholy
giuen holily to obey the Oracle, he gaue a resolute negatiue vnto the
messenger of Anaxius, who all this while had waited for it, yet
in good
termes desiring him to shewe him selfe, in respect of his birth and
profession, so Princely a Knight, as without forcing him to seeke the
way of force, to deliuer in noble sorte those Ladies vnto him, and so
should the iniurie haue bene in Amphialus, and the benefite in
him.
The
messenger went backe with this answere, yet hauing euer vsed to
sugre any thing which his Maister was to receaue, he tolde him, that
when Basilius first vnderstood his desires, he did ouerreach so
farre
all his most hopefull expectations, that he thought it were too great a
boldnesse to harken to such a man, in whome the heauens had such
interest, without asking the Gods counsell, and therefore had sent his
principall counsailour to Delphos, who although he kepte the
matter
neuer so secrete, yet his diligence, inspired by Anaxius his
priuiledge
ouer all worldly thinges, had founde out the secrete, which was, that
he should not pres[u]me to marrie his daughters, to one who already was
enrolled among the demie-Gods, and yet much lesse he should dare the
attempting to take them out of his hands.
Anaxius, who till then had made
Fortune his creator, and Force his
God, nowe beganne to finde an other wisedome to be
aboue, that iudged
so rightly of him: and where in this time of his seruauntes wayting for
Basilius resolution, he and his brothers had courted their
Ladies, as
whome they vouchsafed to haue for their wiues, he resolued now to dally
no longer in delayes, but to make violence his Oratour, since he had
found persuasions had gotten nothing but answeres. Which intention he
opened to his brothers, who hauing all this while wanted nothing to
take that way, but his authoritie, gaue spurres to his running, and,
vnworthy men, neither feeling vertue in themselues, nor tendring it in
others, they were headlong to make that euill consorte of loue and
force, when Anaxius had worde, that from the Tower there were
descried
some companies of armed men, marching towardes the towne; wherefore he
gaue presente order to his seruauntes, and souldiers, to goe to the
gates and walles, leauing none within but himselfe, and his brothers:
his thoughts then so full of their intended pray, that Mars-his
lowdest
trumpet could scarcely haue awaked him.
CHAP.
28.
1 Zoilus the messenger,
2 and first offerer of force, 3 is for-
ced to
flie, and die. 4 Lycurgus pointed to kill, 5 is fought
withal, 6 foiled,
7 & killed. 8 Anaxius the Reuenger with
Pyrocles the Punisher braue,
and
brauely combatted.
Vt while he was directing what he would
haue done, his yongest brother Zoilus, glad that he had the
commission, went in the name
of Anaxius,
to tel the sisters, that since he had answere from their father, that
he and his brother Licurgus, should haue them in what sort it
pleased
them, that they would now graunt them no longer time, but presently to
determine, whether they thought it more honorable comfort to be
compelled, or perswaded. Pamela
made him answere, that in a matter
whereon the whole state of her life depended, and wherin she had euer
answered, she would not lead, but follow her parents pleasure; she
thought it reason she should, either by letter, or particular messeger
vndersta[n]d somthing from the[m]selues, & not haue her beleef
bound to
the report of their partiall seruants, & therefore, as to their
words, she & her sister, had euer a simple & true resolution,
so against their vniust force, God, they hoped, would either arme their
liues, or take away their liues.
Wel Ladies
(said he) I wil leaue
my brothers, who by & by wil come vnto you, to be their own
embassadors, for my parte, I must now do my self seruice. And with that
turning vp his mustachoes, and marching as if he would begin a pauen,
he went toward Zelmane. But Zelmane (hauing had all
this while of the
messengers being with Basilius, much to do to keepe those
excellent
Ladies from seeking by the pasport of death, to escape those base
dangers whereunto they found themselues subiect) still hoping that Musidorus
would finde some meanes to deliuer them; and
therefore
had
often both by her owne example, & comfortable reasons, perswaded
the[m] to ouerpasse many insolent indignities of their proud suters,
who
thought it was a sufficient fauour not to doo the vttermost iniurie,
now come againe to the streight she most feared for them, either of
death or dishonor, if heroicall courage would haue let her, she had
beene beyonde herselfe amazed: but that yet held vp her wit, to
attend the vttermost occasion, which eue[n] then brought his hairie
forehead vnto her: for Zoilus smacking his lippes, as for the
Prologue
of a kisse, and something advancing himselfe, Darling (said he) let thy
hart be full of ioy, and let thy faire eies be of counsel with it, for
this day thou shalt haue Zoilus, who[m] many haue lo[n]ged for;
but none
shall haue him, but Zelmane. And oh, how much glory I haue to
think
what a race will be betwene vs. The world, by the heauens, the world
will be too litle for them: And with that, he would haue put his arme
about her necke, but she, withdrawing her selfe from him, My Lord (said
she) much good may your thoughts do you, but that I may not dissemble
with you, my natiuitie being cast by one that neuer failed in any of
his prognostications, I haue bene assured, that I should neuer be apt
to beare children. But since you wil honor me with so hie fauor, I must
onely desire that I may performe a vow which I made among my
coutriwomen, the famous Amazons, that I would neuer marrie
none, but
such one as was able to withstand me in Armes: therfore, before I make
mine own desire seruiceable to yours, you must vouchsafe to lend me
armor and weapons, that at least, with a blow or two of the sword, I
may not finde my selfe periured to my selfe. But Zoilus (but
laughing
with a hartie lowdnes) went by force to embrace her; making no other
answere, but since she had a minde to trie his Knighthood, she should
quickly know what a man of armes he was: and so, without reuerence to
the Ladies, began to struggle with her.
But in Zelmane then Disdaine became wisdome,
& Anger gaue
occasion. For abiding no longer aboad in the matter, she that had not
put off, though she had disguised, Pyrocles,
being farre fuller of
strong nimblenes, tript vp his feete, so that he fel down at hers. And
withall (meaning to pursue what she had begun) puld out his sword,
which he ware about him: but before she could strike him withall, he
gat vp, and ranne to a faire chamber, where he had left his two
brethre[n], preparing themselues to come downe to their mistresses. But
she followed at his heeles, & eue[n] as he came to throw himself
into
their arms for succor, she hit him with his own sword, such a blow
vpo[n]
the wast, that she almost cut him a suder: once, she sundred his soule
fro[m] his body, se[n]ding it to Proserpina, an angry Goddesse
against
rauishers.
But Anaxius,
seing before his eyes the miserable end of his brother,
fuller of despite the wrath, & yet fuller of wrath then sorow,
looking with a wofull eye vpon his brother Lycurgus, Brother,
said he,
chastice this vile creature, while I go down, & take order lest
further mischief arise: & so went down to the Ladies, whom he
visited, doubting there had bene some further practise the[n] yet he
conceiued. But finding the[m] only strong in pacience, he went &
lockt
a great Iron gate, by which onely any body might mounte to that part of
the Castle, rather to conceale the shame of his brother, slaine by a
woman, then for doubt of any other anoyance, and the went vp to receaue
some comfort of the execution, he was sure his brother had done of Zelmane.
But Zelmane no sooner saw those brothers, of
whom Reaso[n] assured her she
was to expect reuege, but that she lept to a
target, as one that well
knew the first marke of valure to be defence. And the accepting the
oportunitie of Anaxius going away, she waited not the pleasure
of Lycurgus, but without any words (which she euer thought
vaine, whe[n]
resolutio[n] tooke the place of perswasion) gaue her owne hart the
contentment to be the assailer. Lycurgus, who was in the
dispositio[n] of
his nature hazardouse, & by the luckie passing through many
dangers, growne confident in himselfe, went toward her, rather as to
spoile, then to fight, so farre from feare, that his assurednesse
disdained to hope. But whe[n] her sword made demonstrations aboue al
flattery of argume[n]ts, & that he found she prest so vpon him, as
shewed that her courage sprang not from blind despair, but was garded
both with cunning & strength: self-loue the first in him diuided it
selfe fro[m] vain-glory, & made him find that the world of
worthines
had not his whole globe co[m]prised in his brest, but that it was
necessary to haue strong resista[n]ce against so strong assailing. And
so
between the[m], for a few blowes, Mars himself might haue bin
delighted to
looke on. But Zelmane, who knew that in her case, slownesse of
victory
was little better the[n] ruine, with the bellowes of hate, blew the
fire
of courage, and he striking a maine blow at her head, she warded it
with the shield, but so warded, that the shield was cut in two pieces,
while it protected her, & withall she ran in to him, and thrusting
at his brest, which he put by with his target, as
he was lifting vp his sword to strike again, she let fall the piece of
her shield, and with her left hand catching his sword of the inside of
the po[m]mel, with nimble & strong sleight, she had gotte his sword
out of his hand before his sence could co[n]uey to his imaginatio[n],
what
was to be doubted. And hauing now two swords against one shield,
meaning not foolishly to be
vngratefull to good fortune, while he was
no more amazed with his being vnweapned, then with the suddainnes
therof, she gaue him such a wou[n]d vpo[n] his head, in despite of the
shields ouer-weak resista[n]ce, that withal he fel to the grou[n]d,
astonished with the paine, & agast with feare. But seing Zelmane
ready to co[n]clude her victory in his death, bowing vp his head to
her,
with a countenance that had forgotten al pride, Enough excellent Lady,
said he, the honor is yours: Wherof you shall want the best witnes, if
you kil me. As you haue take fro[m] men the glory of ma[n]hood, returne
so
now againe to your owne sex, for mercy. I wil redeeme my life of you
with no smal seruices, for I will vndertake to make my brother obey all
your commadements. Grant life I beseech you, for your own honor, and
for the persons sake that you loue best.
Zelmane
represt a while her great hart, either disdaining to
be
cruell, or pitiful, & therfore not cruell: & now the image of
humane condition, bega[n] to be an Orator vnto her of compassio[n],
whe[n] she
saw, as he lifted vp his armes with a supplia[n]ts grace, about one of
the[m], vnhappily, tied a garter with a Iewel, which (giue[n] to Pyrocles
by
his aunt of Thessalia, & greatly esteemed by him) he had
prese[n]ted
to Philoclea, & with inward rage promising extream hatred,
had seene Lycurgus with a proud force, & not with out some
hurt vnto her,
pull away fro[m] Philoclea because at entreatie she would not
giue it him.
But the sight of that was like a cyphar, signifying all the iniuries
which Philoclea had of him suffred, & that reme[m]brance
feeding vpo[n]
wrath, trod down al co[n]ceits of mercy. And therfore saying no more,
but,
No villaine, dye: It is Philoclea that se[n]ds thee this
toke[n] for thy loue.
With that she made her sword drink the blood of his hart, though he
wresting his body, & with a cou[n]tenace prepared to excuse, wold
fain
haue delaied the receiuing of deaths embassadors.
But neither that staied Zelmanes hand, nor
yet Anaxius crie vnto her,
who hauing made fast the Iron gate, euen then came to the top of the
staires, when, contrarie to all his imaginations, he saw his brother
lie at Zelmanes
mercie. Therefore crying, promising, and threatning to
her to hold her hand: the last grone of his brother was the onely
answere he could get to his vnrespected eloquence. But then Pittie
would faine haue drawne teares, which Furie in their spring dried; and
Anger would faine haue spoken, but that Disdaine sealed vp his lippes;
but in his hart he blasphemed heauen, that it could haue such a power
ouer him; no lesse ashamed of the victorie he should haue of her, then
of his brothers ouerthrow: and no more spited, that it was yet
vnreuenged, then that the reuenge should be no greater, then a womans
destruction. Therefore with no speach, but such a groning crie, as
often is the language of sorowfull anger, he came running at Zelmane,
use of fighting then seruing in steed of patient co[n]sideration what
to
doo. Guided wherewith, though he did not with knowledge, yet did he
according to knowledge, pressing vpon Zelmane in such a wel
defended
manner, that in all the combats that euer she had fought, she had neuer
more need of quicke senses, & ready vertue. For being one of the
greatest men of stature then liuing, as he did fully answere that
stature in greatnesse of might, so did he exceed both in greatnes of
courage, which with a cou[n]tena[n]ce formed by the nature both of his
mind
& body, to an almost horrible fiercenes, was able to haue carried
feare to any mind, that was not priuie to it selfe of a true &
co[n]stant worthines. But Pyrocles,
whose soule might well be separated
fro[m] his body, but neuer alienated fro[m] the remembring what was
comely,
if at the first he did a little apprehend the dangerousnes of his
aduersarie, whom once before he had something tried, & now
perfectly saw, as the very picture of forcible furie: yet was that
apprehension quickly stayed in him, rather strengthning, then weakning
his vertue by that wrestling; like wine, growing the stro[n]ger by
being
moued. So that they both, prepared in harts, and able in hands, did
honor solitarines there with such a combat, as might haue demaunded, as
a right of fortune, whole armies of beholders. But no beholders needed
there, where manhood blew the trumpet, & satisfaction did whette,
as much as glorie. There was strength against nimblenes; rage, against
resolution, fury, against vertue; confidence, against courage; pride,
against noblenesse: loue, in both, breeding mutual hatred, & desire
of reue[n]ging the iniurie of his brothers slaughter, to Anaxius,
being
like Philocleas captiuity to Pyrocles. Who had seen the
one, would haue
thought nothing could haue resisted; who had marked the other, would
haue maruelled that the other had so long resisted. But like two
contrarie tides, either of which are able to carry worldes of shippes,
and men vpon them, with such swiftnes, as nothing seemes able to
withstand them: yet meeting one another, with mingling their watrie
forces, and strugling together, it is long to say whether streame gets
the victorie: So betweene these, if Pallas had bene there, she
could
scarcely haue tolde, whether she had nurced better in the feates of
armes. The Irish greyhound, against the English mastiffe; the
sword-fish, against the whale; the Rhinoceros, against the elepha[n]t,
might be models, & but models of this co[m]bat. Anaxius was
better
armed defensiuely: for (beside a strong caske brauely couered, wherwith
he couerd his head) he had a huge shield, such perchance, as Achilles
shewed to the pale walles of Troy, where-withall that
body was couered.
But Pyrocles, vtterly vnarmed for defence, to offend had the
advantage:
for, in either hand he had a sword, & with both hands nimbly
performed that office. And according as they were diuersly furnished,
so did they differ in the manner of fighting. For Anaxius most
by
warding, and Pyrocles oftnest by auoyding, resisted the
aduersaries
assault. Both hastie to end, yet both often staying for advantage.
Time, distance, & motio[n] custom made them so perfect in, that as
if
they had bene felow Counsellers, and not enemies, each knewe the others
minde, and knew how to preuent it. So as their stre[n]gth fayled them
sooner then their skill, and yet their breath fayled them sooner then
their strength. And breathles indeed they grew, before either could
complaine of any losse of bloud.
CHAP.
29.
l The Combattants first
breathing, 2 reencounter, and
O consenting by the mediation of
necessitie, to a breathing time of
truce, being withdrawen a little one from
the other; Anaxius
stood
leaning vpon his sworde, with, his grym eye, so setled vpon Zelmane,
as
is wont to be the look of an earnest thought. Which Zelmane
marking,
&, according to the Pyroclean nature, fuller of gay
brauerie in the
midst, then in the beginning of da[n]ger; What is it (said she) Anaxius,
that thou so deeply musest on? Dooth thy brothers exa[m]ple make thee
thinke of thy fault past, or of thy coming punishme[n]t? I think (said
he)
what spiteful God it should be, who, enuying my glory, hath brought me
to such a waywarde case, that neither thy death can be a reuenge, nor
thy ouerthrow a victorie. Thou doost well indeede (saide Zelmane)
to
impute thy case to the heauenly prouidence, which will haue thy pride
find it selfe (euen in that whereof thou art most proud) punished by
the weake sex, which thou most contemnest.
But then, hauing sufficiently
rested themselues, they renewed againe their combatte, farre more
terribly then before: like
nimble vaulters, who at the
first and second
leape, doo but stirre, and (as it were) awake the fierie and aerie
partes, which after in the other leapes, they doo with more excellence
exercise. For in this pausing, ech had brought to his thoughts the
maner of the others fighting, and the advantages, which by that, and by
the qualitie of their weapons, they might work themselues; and so
againe repeated the lesson they had said before, more perfectly, by the
using of it. Anaxius oftner vsed blowes, his huge force (as it
were)
more delighting therein, and the large protection of his shield,
animating him vnto it. Pyrocles, of a more fine, and deliuer
strength,
watching his time when to giue fitte thrustes; as, with the quick
obeying of his bodie, to his eyes quicke commaundement, he shunned any
harme Anaxius could do to him: so would he soon haue made an
end of Anaxius, if he had not fou[n]d him a ma[n] of wonderful,
& almost
matchlesse excelle[n]cy in matters of armes. Pyrocles vsed
diuers
faynings, to bring Anaxius on, into some inconuenience. But Anaxius
keeping a sound maner of fighting, neuer offered, but seeing faire
cause, & then
followed it with wel-gouerned violence. Thus spent they a great time,
striuing to doo, and with striuing to doo, wearying themselues, more
then with the very doing. Anaxius finding Zelmane so
neere vnto him,
that with little motion he might reach her, knitting all his strength
together, at that time mainly foyned at her face. But Zelmane
strongly
putting it by with her right hande sword, comming in with her left
foote, and hande, woulde haue giuen him a sharpe visitation to his
right side, but that he was faine to leape away. Whereat ashamed, (as
hauing neuer done so much before in his life)
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