Anthony Chewte's Beawtie Dishonour'd
Anthony Chewte's Beawtie Dishonour'd
Discussion



Date of Commentary: Sunday, October 29, 2006: Francis Chute


Anthony Chewte's Beawtie Dishonour'd

This poem (with all its faults) touches on several points of general interest, which could help us to picture Anthony in his environment - especially if we could enlist an expert in Elizabethan literature, and on the poet Edmund Spenser in particular. I would remark that:

  • Gabriel Harvey (Anthony's patron) had been Spenser's contemporary at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge and became his intimate friend and promoter of his poetry;
  • Spenser often passed poems in draft to Harvey for comment before publication - thus Harvey was in a position to show them to Anthony for his education;
  • Spenser's The Faerie Queene concerns "the Legend of the Knight of the Red Crosse";
  • Spenser was hailed as the new genius of English poetry in the 1590's; his work combines classical and English imagery, including famous allegorical references to swans and rivers just as we find in Beauwtie Dishonour'd (ref note 2 below);
  • Spenser went to Ireland in 1580 as secretary to Lord Grey of Wilton, the newly appointed Lord Deputy, who became notorious for his cruelty in suppressing the Desmond Rebellion;
  • Spenser received Kilcolman castle in Cork, one of the former residences of the Earls of Desmond (and received Harvey there as guest, under his pastoral name of Hobbinol);
  • In October 1598 his castle was burned by Irish insurgents, and he barely escaped alive - this rising being the trigger for the English punitive campaign which brought Anthony's nephew George Chute (later Sir George) to Ireland.
  • I don't for a moment want to add two to two and make twenty-two, but there are Chute connections to be found, and if a Spenser expert were to analyse Anthony Chute's verse, a range of imitations might emerge - though Anthony had (alas) no trace of Spenser's genius. Being no expert, I merely add the following generalities.

    1.    The date of Anthony's poem is uncertain ("infant muse" need only mean it was an early opus, not that he was young) and he could well have read some Spenser before he wrote it. It is clearly a product of the New Learning from the Italian Renaissance which brought the whole body of Classical mythology into English literature and found its first great flowering in Spenser. Anthony's choice of metaphors seems to betray a need to display his classical education.

    2.   But Spenser also inherited 'Englishness' from Chaucer, and our rivers were symbolic to him; he wrote of the marriage of the Thames and the Medway, and in Prothalamium a pair of gleaming white swans make stately procession down the Thames until in London they are greeted by two

    "gentle knights of lovely face and feature,
    beseeming well the bower of anie queene,
    with gifts of wit and ornaments of nature,
        fit for so goodly stature
    that like the twins of Jove they seemed ... "
        who then
    "received those two fair Brides, their Loves delight. "

    Here we are in a world of magic, symbolism and chivalry. Swans are of course associated with female beauty; a pair of swans drew Venus's chariot. Classical poets maintained that the swan loved music and uttered a beautiful song at its death. Fable said that the soul of a poet entered into a swan.

    So when we tum to Anthony's poem, we see him consciously contrasting this idealised world with that of Elizabeth/Jane Shore's upbringing. The first stanza quoted in Lionel's extract beginning "Then where from silver streamed Isis lying,/Sylent in Swans ... " refers to two parts of the Thames, (a) the stretch known as Isis, near Oxford, (b) the lower section (always "Thames") which may well bear a "muddie countenance" because it is tidal and was liable to carry London's refuse back upstream.

    I don't know where she was geographically born, but the metaphor stands in its own right to distinguish between a magical and a muddy environment, lordly vs. lowly, within the same realm - the whole gist of these stanzas. The elliptical phrase "Sylent in Swans" is obscure but presumably a compliment to Isis; it contrasts the serene main river haunted by stately swans with the little brooks too small for a swan. On the other hand it could be a cryptic comment that Oxford produced no poets (Spenser & Harvey were from Cambridge!)

    3.  In the stanza "As song the Syrens ... " can anyone say if the word printed 'lone' in line 5 should be 'love'?

    4.    Pallastias. Three stanzas down comes the ref. to "Rosie Pallastias". What Dodd says about Pallas Athena and Bacon is true in itself, but I'm far from convinced that Anthony had that same goddess in mind, nor that we can infer his association with the Rosicrosse. Why?

    Because throughout the classical period, Athena/Minerva was the archetypal virgin goddess. (Even the virgin huntress Diana of the moon had the subsidiary function of helping women in childbirth.) Why on earth describe Athena as in "wanton fayre", and being "bashful!"? Professional virgins aren't "rosie" or wanton, don't "steal from a bed" and have nothing to be bashful about.

    Either Anthony was ignorant or wilfully perverse in his classical references, which I doubt (and which the classicist Harvey would have pounced on), or he was actually alluding to some notional goddess of the dawn known as Pallastias or some such spelling. That name could easily derive from the Greek Pallax, a concubine; and such a person could naturally be associated with wantonness, stealing from a bed, and "vermillion red".

    You may be able to find Pallastias was a sign of the zodiac or similar concept. (I didn't know of Thetis, for that matter, being a name of the evening star, per his next stanza; we call it Venus.) This period was pre-Galileo, but bursting with exploration and curiosity. Literary London was full of catch-phrases, puns, witticisms, fancies, inventions and allusions to contemporary nine-days-wonders which are now forgotten by all but specialists.

    1 don't have the learning to pursue this conclusively, but common sense argues that if our Anthony affected to venerate the goddess Pallas, patron of wisdom and music, or sought kudos from literary lions by merely mentioning her name in a poem, he would not have introduced her in an image which gratuitously insults her, by:

  • (i) contradicting the essence of her virgin virtue, and
  • (ii) when he can throw at least two other dawn-deities, Tython and Aurora, into the poem, singling out Pallastias as the one which is dimmed when the sun comes out.
  • If we believe Dodd, Anthony introduced Pallas, patron of wisdom and music, only to humiliate her. She should be supreme, but when the sun comes out, she is dimmed ~ just as Jane's early life was dimmed when she achieved the glory of the king's love!

    (I know nothing of Rosicrosse, but reel we can drop the notion that Anthony was here displaying pretensions to venerate Pallas Athene alongside her great contemporary votaries.)




    Date of Commentary: Sunday, October 29, 2006: Francis Chute


    CHEWT or CHUTE (ANTHONY) - Beawtie dishonored. Written under the title of Shores Wife. 1
    Chascun se plaist ou il se trouve mieux.
    London, Imprinted by John Wolfe. 1593. 4to. pp. 54
    Sample cover of the popular anthology Mirror for Magistrates, this one from 1610

    It is not improbable that the legends or histories of the Mirrour for Magistrates 2, published a few years earlier, may have given the first idea of this historical poem by Chute, now of the utmost rarity. It is inscribed “To the Right Worshipfull Sir Edward Winckfield Knight,” and is termed by the author, “the first invention of my beginning Muse” and “myne infant labours” from whence we may conclude that it was written in early life, and was the first production of his Muse. It consists of 197 six-line stanzas and is printed in italics; the running title being “Shores Wife”. The poem, which gives a history of the varied and checquered fortunes of this celebrated mistress of Edward the Fourth, is written in the first person, and is supposed to be related by “her wronged ghost.” Although it contains some smoothly flowing lines and many of the similes are appropriately expressed, it does not altoegther as a poem exceed mediocrity, and is frequently disfigured by the quaint and forced conceits and punning antitheses of that period. But the reader will be better able to judge of the author’s style from the following stanzas, which describe the youthful state of the subject of the poem:

    Then where from silver streamed Isis lying,
    Sylent in Swans, and quyet in her brookes,
    Forsaken Thames, into her self backe flying.
    With muddie countenance, and unwilling lookes, 3
          As discontent, doth make her sad resorte
          As farre as now decaying Caesars forte.

    There recordes witnesse of mine education,
    And vulgar parents, of a meane degree
    To whom my dying day hath just relation:
    Yet was this meane a happie meane to me:
          That living fayrest faire above the best
          Hapless in life, in death I might be blest.

    But madding thoughtes, ambitious of promotions,
    Nurst in suspect of ages alteration,
    As swolne with furie of the mindes commotions,
    Deemes all things doubtfull, breedes not contentation,
          And this discontent their mindes did guide me,
          That being young, there were too many eyde me.

    For looke how matter, admirably rare,
    Drawes musing thoughts, to studdying contemplation:
    And time not able to produce compare
    Confermes the wonder with more admiration:
          So, and such was my bewties quaint compare
          Wonder it selfe did make me more then rare.

    Yet humble, honorable, chast and devine,
    True looking, pure , and bashfully reflecting.
    Were all the honors of my mayden eyne,
    In perfect act true modestie affecting:
          And this Decorum I did ever seeke
          To grace my bewtie with a blushing cheeke.

    Myne eye no looke, no wanton winke affected,
    (The false fayre notes of Syres incantations)
    No rash gase of immodestie detected,
    My chast minde, bent to wandering alterations.
          And yet, nor quoy, nor prowd my lookes were wayd
          But purely such, as might befit a mayd.

    The following stanzas are quoted as specimens of not unapt similes made use of by Chute:

    As song the Syrens to the wandring knight,
    Th' illusive stanzaes of their charming song:
    Pleasing th'attentive eare with sweet delight,
    But hatefull Actors of intended wrong:
          So sweetly song they songs of lone to me,
          They seem'd or Syrens, or more sweet to be.

    For looke how in a solitarie guise,
    The virgine querester of the listning night,
    Chantes her sweet descant, in a flattring wise,
    To gayne her little freedoms if she might:
          And sings the sweeter by how much the more
          She mindes the libertie she had before.

    So when imprison'd in precise constraint
    Myne eye kept watch and my brow tyrannised:
    Those that their free enlargement did awayte
    In arguing pratle sweetly subtelised:
          And as their passion did increase in feare
          It pleas'd so much the more my stranger ear

    And again:

    (Quoth she) behold how in her wanton fayre
    Rosie Pallastias (new stolne from her bed) 4
    Blusheth her glorie on the morning ayre,
    In bashfull decensie of vermillion red:
          And from his stand the Northerne watchman frayes
          With brighter comming of her sommer rayes.

    Or as whilst Thetis in her ev'ning greeting,
    Smileth her purple on the suns decline,
    And with her Tytan in the West seacs meeting,
    Appears a wonder, bashfully devine,
          Such is her face (quoth she) herselfe so fayre
          She seems as bewtious as the ev'ning ayre.

    Hast though not seene how in her hemisphere
    The morninges henchmen, and the starre of Love
    Vales in her bewtie at the suns appeare
    And seemeth dim'd his glorie to approve?
          Even so her eyes (quoth she) exceede so farre
          As doth the sonne the sitting morning starre.*

    More bewtie, more devine doth her adorne,
    Then all Dianas meaken (symbol) virgins graces,
    Those froes that in the dewy of the morne
    Trip on the flowres in those silent places
          To which the feathered queresters resort
          And chante them many a musicall report.

    Oft have I seene when to the strond of Po,
    The floating swans did make their last repayre
    And silver plum'd, as white as any snow
    Blemisht Indimions Scynthia in her faire
          Yet ne'er did she, never did they excell
          The Ivory white upon her brow doth dwell.

    As when before old sleepie Tython dawnes
    (Dew'd in the wept teares of Auroraes eyes)
    Sweet savoring flowers of the meddow lawnes
    With sweet perfumes up into heaven arise,
          So breathes her brethes perfume so sweetly smelling
          It seems her breath the flowers are excelling.

    Sung never at Euridices redeeming
    The Thracian Harper to the god of hell
    A song more honor worth, worth more esteeming
    Yet Orpheus touch pleased devinely well
          Nor yet Arion ever so behav'd him
          Although he song so sweet, the Dolphin sav'd him.

    Nor that old man, whose musicall recordes
    The following walls of ancient Theb's did reare
    Nor Paean pleasing in her sweet accordes
    The curious judgement of the nycest eare
          Did ever sound, were ever song so well
          But her sweet wordes, her voyce doth farre excell.

    Of the personal history of Anthony Chewt or Chute, the author of this exceedingly rare poem, little appears to be known. He was an intimate and valued friend of Gabriel Harvey, to whom he addressed some commemoratory letters, together with a sonnet and some satirical lines on Nash, entitled, "The Asses Fig:, printed at the end of that writer's "Pierces Supererogation, or a New Praise of the Olde Ass", Lond, 1592, 4to. The sonnet against Nash, which is subscribed Sh. Wy..: for Shores Wife, the running title of Chute's poem, is as follows:

    Proceed, most worthy lines, in your disdain
    Against the false suggestion you abuse
    Whose rascal style deserved hath to gain
    The hatefull title of a railing Muse.

    Doubtless, the wisest that shall chance to read you
    In true judicial of a quiet thought
    Will give applause unto the wit that bred you,
    And you shall win the good that you have sought.

    Win more; and since the fool defames you still,
    The fool whom Shame hath stained with foul blot,
    Perform on him your discontented will
    Fame shall be your meed; Shame shall be his lot.
    And so proceeding, you shall so redeem
    The name that he would down in black esteem.

    Harvey, in his introductory letter before that work in "answer to Letters and Sonnets Commendatory" addressed to his friends M. Barnabe Barnes, M. John Thorious and M. Anthony Chewte, speaking of the latter says:

    Shores Wife eternized shall everlastingly testify what you are. Go forward in maturity, as you have begun in pregnancy ... Be thou, Antony, the flowing orator like Dove*, or the skilful herald like Clarentius; and ever remember thy Portugal voyage under Don Antonio.

    (*celebrated preacher of Christ Church, Oxford, who died in 1618.)

    Nash in his "Have with you to Saffron Walden". Lond. 1596, 4to., written in answer to this pamphlet by Harvey, speaks of Chute as having been a low attorney's clerk, as the author of Procris and Cephalus and other things, and as dead and rotten in 1596, having died of the dropsy within a year and a half from the publication of Harvey's book in 1592. The passage by Nash in answer to that by Gabriel Harvey concerning Chute, just quoted, is so curious and so characteristic of Nash's style, that we are induced to give it in extenso:

    "Chute, is he such a high Clarke in hys Bookes? I knew when hee was but a low Clarke, and carried an Atturnies bookes after him. But this I will say for him, though he bee dead and rotten, and by his obseqies hath presented the vengeance I meant to have executed upon him, of a youth tht could not undertand a word of Latine, hee lov'd lycoras and drunke posset curd the best that ever putts cuppe to mouth; and for his Oratorship, it was such, that I have seene him non plus in giving the charge, at the cresting of a new Knight of Tobacco; though, to make amends since, he hath kneaded and daub'd up a Commediem called The transformation of the King of Trinidadoes two Daughters, Madame Panaechaea and the Nymphe Tobacco; and to approve his Heraldrie, scutchen'd out the honorable Armes of the smoakie Societie. His voiage under Don Antonio was nothing so great cresdit to him, as a French Varlet of the chamber is; nor did he follow Anthonio neither, but was a Captaines Boye that scorn'd writing and reading, and helpt him to set downe his accounts, and score up dead payes. But this was our Graphiel Hagiels tricke of Wily Beguily 5 herein, that whereas he could get no man of worth to crie Placet to his works, or meter it in his commendation, those worthlesse Whippers and Jack Strawes 6 he could get, hee would seeme to enable and compare with the highest. Hereby hee thought to conny catch the simple world and make them belecue that these and these great men, everly waye suitable to Syr Thomas Baskerville, Master Bodley, Doctor Andrewes, Doctor Dove, Clarencius and Master Spencer, had separately contended to outstrip Pindaras in his Olympicis, and fly aloft to the highest pitch, to stellifie him above the cloudes, and make him shine next to Mercury."

    Speaking of John Wolfe, the printer of Harvey's work, as being much beholden to him, Nash says,

    "If there were ever a paltrie Scrinano, betwixt a Lawiers Clark and a Poet, or smattring pert Boy, whose buttocks were not yet coole since he came from the gammar ... should stumble in there with a Pamphlet to sell, let him or anie of them but have conjoynd with him in rayling against mee and feed his humor of vain-glorie, were their stuffe by ten millions more Tramontani or Transalpine barbarous than balletry, he would have prest it upon Wolfe whether he would or no, and gin'n it immortall allowance above Spencer ... So did he by Chutes Shores Wife, and his Procris and Cephalus, and a number of Pamphlagonian things more, that it would rust, and yron-spot paper, to have but one sillable of their names breathed over it. By these complots and carefull purveyance for him, Wolfe could not choose but bee a huge gainer, a hundred marke at least over the shoulder."

    Nash, also, full of bitter rancour against Chute for taking the side of Harvey against him, thus again alludes to him near the close of his work:

    "Chute that was the bawlingest of them all, and that bob'd me with nothing but Rhenish furie, Stilliard clyme, oyster whore phrase, claret spirit, and ale house passions, with talking so much of drinke, within a yeere and a halfe after died of the dropsie, as divers Printers that were at his buriall certifide mee. Being dead, I would not have reviv'd him, but that the Doctor (whose Patron he was) is alive to answer for him."

    From this account by Nash, therefore, we learn that Anthony Chute died of a dropsy somewhere about the yweat 1594 at an early period of his life. No copy of his Procris and Cephalus is known to exist, although entered on the Register of the Stationers' Company by John Wolfe in 1593; but Ritson thinks that this may probably be the poem alluded to by Shakespeare in the Midsummer's Night Dream:

    "Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true,
    As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you."

    Shakespeare, however, only alludes to the tale, and not to any particuar work on the subject.

    Two copies only of this extremely rare poem are known to be in existance one, the first on record, which formerly belonged to George Stevens, who wrote a note in it, staing that he had never seen another copy, and at whose sale it produced 3l, 15s. This copy afterwards successively passed into the Bindley, Perry and Jolley collections, producing at their sales respectively 34l, 13s, 26l,m and 35l,; and was purchased at the last by Mr. Geo. Daniel, at whose sale in 1864. No. 395, it bought 96l., and is now in the collection of Henry Huth, Esq. The other copy, which is the present one, belonged successively to Jadis, Hibbert and Bright, at whose sales it brought 15l, 15s, 14l, 14s and 26l, 10s. There is no copy of this work in the libraries of Heber, Townley, Dent, Sykes Nasau, Midgley, Freeling, Skegg, Chalmers and other poetical collection; and we look in vain for it in the rich stores of the British Museum, the public or private libraries of Oxford and Cambridge or the Bridgewater or other private collections.

    Collation: Sig. A to G 3 in fours, 27 leaves.
    Remarkably fine copy. Bound by C. Lewis.
    In Blue Morocco extra, gilt leaves.
    Vol II, Part II.

    As an appendix to this article on Chute, we are enabled to present our readers with a very curious letter of his, making application for the office of a Pursuivant at Arms7 , addressed to the Lord Treasurer Burghley, from the original among the Lansdowne MSS, in the British Museum, No. 77, article 83, which is entirely unknown to bibliographers. This is a remarkable document, containing more curious particulars than such petitions generally yield - although it is believed to have been unsuccessful in its object.

    May it please your good Lordship,
    The advancement your Lordship giveth to men Learned and honeste emboldnethe mee in most humble mannr to beseech your Lordship, That whereas many are suitors for the office of a Poursivant at Armnes that your Lordship of your greate goodness will vouchsafe so much favour to be a poore Gent. and Scollar without frends, that if for my quality and honnest deserts I shall be found meeter to doe her Majesty's service in that place than others that are recommended (according to the favor and opinion of their frends). That your Lordship will vouchsafe to betstow the same (position) upon me, who have been a student in that profession, not without understanding the Latin (Lattyne), French (Frenche), and Italian (Italien) as also tricking of Armes, and all other partes belonging to blazon; for tryall whereof if your Lordship may like to commande mee in any Service thereto belonging, or referre mee to the beste learned Heralds, to report my sufficiency, and to extende your honorable favor accordingly, I shall praise God to have fownd so Juste a Patron, and pray until him while I live, that your good Lordship may in this liefe and a better be ever blessed and happy,

    Your Lordships most humble,
    Anthony Chewte
    27 May 1594
    Auth. Chewte to be a Psyvat.
    To the Right Honorable and Singular good Lord the L. Burghley L. High Treasurer of Englande
    Source: Collectanea Anglo-Poetica or A Bibliographical and Descriptive Catalogue of a Portion of a Collection of Early English Poetry With Occasional Extracts and Remarks Biographical and Critical
    by the Rev. Thomas Corser, M.A., F.S.A., Rector of Stand, Lancashire and Vicar of Norton, Northhamptonshire,
    Part IV
    Printed for the Chetham Society, 1869, Pages 390-396
    (Located by Lionel Chute)


    Footnotes
    1Elizabeth ("Jane") Shore (~1445 - ~1527) was mistress of King Edward IV, also remembered for his description of her as "the merriest, the wiliest, and the holiest harlots in his realm". After his death she became the mistress of Thomas Grey, 1st Marquess of Dorset, and of William Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings. Richard III ordered her to perform a public penance as a "harlot" - which she duly performed - and then jailed her in the Tower of London anyway. She was later released and married the King's Solicitor, Thomas Lynom. Corser may have been correct in assuming that Anthony chose her for the subject of his poem after reading Churchyard's poem about her in The Mirror for Magistrates, but this is only a theory. You may have seen William Blake's 1778 painting of Jane Shore: The Penance of Jane Shore in St Paul's Church although today Blake is possibly better remembered for his watercolor The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun, housed in the Brooklyn Musueum: the watercolor that actor Ralph Fiennes consumed in the film "Red Dragon".


    2"The Mirror for Magistrates, an anthology of early English, Italian and Latin Renaissance narrative poems, was often used as a source of ideas by authors and dramatists (such as Shakespeare), and "enjoyed a brief period of popularity in Tudor England. Initially published in 1559 ... in 1563 a second, enlarged edition appeared, which included Thomas Churchyard's "Shore's Wife"." Corser believed that Anthony Chute used this source as inspiration for his poem, also on the subject of Jane Shore, suggesting it was written after 1563. This approximate date roughly coincides with the additional evidence suggesting that Anthony was still a young man when he wrote it.
    Source: "Mirror for Magistrates", Elizabeth McCutcheon, "A Mirror for Magistrates" and the "de casibus" Tradition". Biography - Volume 24, Number 3, Summer 2001, pp. 616-619 University of Hawai'i Press.

    2Anthony is actually making reference to the British ritual of "Swan Upping", a ritual that dates back to the twelfth century, and still takes place each year on the River Thames during the third week of July. The area of the River Thames where the ritual takes place was also known as the "Isis" (or more commonly now, the "Windrush"); Horus, the son of the Egyptian Goddess Isis was often depicted as riding on a swan. During the ceremony, cygnets (young swans) are caught and marked to show whom they belong to. In the Middle Ages, when swans were considered a great delicacy, the Crown claimed ownership of all mute swans in the British Isles (hence the reference to "sylent" or silent swans) that were not on private land. Although the Crown still retains this right, the Queen only exercises it for swans on certain parts of the River Thames. Nowadays, swans are rarely eaten ... having been, luckily for them, supplanted by the more common delicacy: roast turkey.

    4
    A Brief Digression for Discussion of Anthony Chute and Rosicrucian Reference

    A most interesting and intriguing reference; I'm not quite sure what to make of it. I'll requote the appropriate text from Alfred Dodd's Book "The Martyrdom of Francis Bacon" pp. 30-35 Chapter II:

    The line, "Rosie Pallastias (new stolne from her bed)" is referring to the the Goddess Athena. "Pallas Athena" often is a reference to a "Statue of Athena", the most famous was that at Troy, which was stolen by Odysseus and Diomedes (sometimes shown with two palladia), and subsequently said to have been taken to the west - although the term is often applied to other Athena statues as well. Pallas Athena was "the Goddess of Wisdom and was supposed to preside over the whole of the intellectual and moral side of human life. She was the patroness of the useful and elegant arts such as weaving (felling), imparting to her devotees the peuculiar Masonic Virtues of Prudence, Courage, Preserverance. She protected the State from outward enemies. The Britannia on our English coins is taken from Pallas. She was credited with being the inventor of musical instruments. The Olive wreath denoting Peace was her emblem. She was a Creator and Preserver. This was the Goddess to whom Francis Bacon plighted his troth when a youth.

    "The members of this Secret Literary Society which centered in Pallas Athena were known as The Knights of the Helmet. They had a ritual created by Francis Bacon and were initiated with an elaborate ceremonial. There was a vow, recitatives, perambulations. The Initiate was capped with the Helmet of Pallas to denote he was henceforth an "Invisible" in the fight for Human Advancement. A large Spear was placed in his hand indicative of a pen for he was to Shake the Spear of Knowledge at the Dragons of Ignorance. He thus became a "Spear-Shaker", and the head of the little band of "Spear-Shakers" was "Shake-Speare" himself, Athena's visible representative on earth ... Francis Bacon."

    Here's where things get a little strange:

    "This little group of law students with a few outsiders like Gabriel Harvey, a Cambridge Professor, the one-time tutor of Francis in Prosody, became the brains of the secret movements in the Elizabethan Era which led to the English Renaissance. The prime Fraternity became known ultimately as the Rosicrosse.

    Their activities began with an attempt to create a flexible English language, to provide words which Englishmen could express themselves, a literature written in their own tongue to take the place of Latin. To this end the Rosicrosse made translations from many languages and issued text-books dealing with all sorts of subjects. They wrote original works anonymously. They had to create an English reading public and they did so in many ways..... by feigned attacks on each other, stimulating controversy, by stories and plays of educational and moral interest. A great deal of Francis Bacon's financial difficulties in these days, and even later, was due to the fact that he had to pay for the books to be printed, and that he was running the printing and publishing side of his creative efforts at a dead loss. He was actually thrown into prison more than once for borrowed monies, such debts being incurred soley through the expenses of his idealistic "Philanthropia." These Rosicrosse books were signed with the numerical Seal of the Rosicrosse, 157 or /and 287 and often the author's real name by a numerical signature or anagram. In these books Francis Bacon had the opportunity to secrete his personal secrets which he dare not write about openly.

    Thus began the Society of the Rosicrosse, and thus the Founder began a series of writings which eventually became the Fourth Part of The Great Instauration. Francis Bacon became an anonymous writer, using many pen-names until he had learned the art of creating personalities by a perfect blending of "FORMS" or human passions. This very word, "Form", Francis Bacon uses in The New Organ of Interpretation for the understanding of all Mental Phenomena and the Thinking Man, thus leading to the creation of the "Actual Types and Models" of Mental and Emotional Passion that were "to be set before the Eyes" as on a Stage by a "Shake-spear."

    So, what does Anthony using the term, "Rosie Pallastias" tell us about Anthony? Actually, I'm not entirely sure, but it might be an entertaining study for a Chute interested in researching the history of secret societies like the early Rosicrucians.




    Date of Commentary: September 6, 2006: Francis Chute


    Francis Chute's comments on the Rosicrucian reference:

    The question has been asked whether Anthony could have been connected with the Society of the Rosicrosse, by inference from:
      - his literary ties with Gabriel Harvey, whom Dodd (in The Martyrdom of Francis Bacon") believes was a Rosicrucian insider, one of its 'brains';
      - the statement that they aimed to create an English reading public and did so [inter alia] by feigned attacks on each other - so that this might be the real.origm of the Nashe/Gabriel feud in whrch Anthony became embroiled.

    The short answer, in my view, is:
      - no publication that I have seen (e g. the lengthy biographical introduction to Nashe’s Collected Works: or the DNB article on Anthony) links Anthony to the Rosicrucians.

      - the text of Beawtie dishonour’d bears no comparison, in literary merit, with its memorable contemporaries (names like Spenser, Marlowe, Drayton, Ben Jonson, etc.), which makes it inconceivable that Harvey was putting Chewte forward as a literal trail-blazer; at best, Anthony was a hopeful amateur who needed a patron in order to get his work published,

      - if the Rosicrucians' objective was to gain support for a renaissance of English literature, they could hardly have done worse than sponsor the puerile level of insult which dominates Nashe’s diatribes like 'Have with You to Saffron Walden".

    This is not to say that Nashe did not seek to get his name associated with the Rosicrucians (honorificabilitudinitatibus, etc) for his own advantage, but that is quite a different matter. The Society, even with Francis Bacon at its head, may well have included a mixture of odd characters. so nothing can be ruled out. But Bacon himself was (a) one of the great masters of English prose, (b) a revolutionary philosopher, in the sense that he led the intellectual attack on the centuries-old cosmologies of the theological schoolmen - and by his eloquence prepared the ground to receive the new category of 'truths' advanced by Galileo, Descartes and Newton. He was a serious and profound as a thinker, and dignified in public office. One cannot conceive that such a man - engaged as he was in re-writing the intellectual rules for “explanation” of the physical world, and carefully framing them so as not to violate core religious beliefs - could have wasted a second's time on frivolites, still less on the rubbish spewed out by pamphleteers such as Nashe.

    Modern people are suckers for any hint or a secret society or cabal, and Nashe's biographer would surely have seized on a Rosicrucian explanation - if it was sustainable for the feud against Harvey, which casts no moral credit on Nashe. But his explanation is entirely different.

    Francis Chute, Wednesday, September 06, 2006



    Date of Commentary: Thursday, September 07, 2006: Jacqueline Chute


    Francis, I completely agree with all of your points; especially that Anthony would hardly have been invited to join any group based on his literary accomplishments or skill. That said, he was also the son of Philip of Appledore; and did have other credentials in his favor (political and social connections and a wealthy, landed family). My thought was, his use of this phrase seems to suggest that he was hinting at something - whether an insider knowledge of Rosicrucian imagery or buzzwords, or a wish that he did, based on his connection with Gabriel Harvey - I can't say, primarily because I don't know much about Rosicrucianism - or their criteria for inclusion, at the time - or even if Dodd's Martyrdom of Francis Bacon is actually correct.

    I'm wondering if these aren't two separate groups - I was never under the impression that the Rosicrucians were actually a "literary society" in the first place - I always thought they were more theosophical or esoteric than literary, but I'll admit, I don't know that much about them. If I could only find my JStor membership number, I could look at the rest of the poem - I know it's available on there somewhere!

    Jacqueline Chute, Thursday, September 07, 2006

    5: "Wily-beguily" sounds like it should mean - if you combine the current definitions of "wily" and "beguiling" - something like "clever and intriguing", but at the time meant that a person shifted his allegiances and opinions depending on which way the wind happened to be blowing. The example used was, "De Dominis, Archbishop of Spalato, was notorious for his shiftings in religion. One of his friends ended a report of an interview with him as follows: ­“It is clear he is a wily-beguily, rightly bred in the nest of the Jesuits.”

    6: "Whippers and Jack Strawes". "Whipper" probably meant the same thing as it did when combined with "snapper" to make the phrase "whipper-snapper": someone who is unimportant but cheeky and presumptuous; a person of no influence. Milton used the term "Jack Strawe" to mean an effigy stuffed with straw; a scarecrow; hence, a man without property or influence.
    7: "Pursuivant of Armes'. A more detailed description of the position for which Anthony is applying was contributed by Steve Chute:



    Date of Commentary: September 4, 2006: Steve Chute


    Hi All:

    The following excerpt from Heralds and Heraldry in Elizabethan England by John Neitz sheds some light on the Office & functions of a 'pursuivant':

    "By the fourteenth century there were three levels of herald: king of arms, herald of arms, and pursuivant of arms. A king of arms was the ranking herald for a kingdom or province and are the only people besides royalty and peers who actually get to wear a coronet (only at the sovereign’s coronation, of course). They were originally called kings of heralds, after the medieval custom of naming a "king" for any group, even a "king of beggars" for the senior beggar of a town.

    A pursuivant was a junior or apprentice grade of herald. They had (until the late seventeenth century) to wear their tabards "colley-westonward" (i.e. sideways with the sleeves in back and front and the large part draped over the sleeves). There is at least one case during Elizabeth’s reign of a pursuivant being censured for wearing his tabard above his station (i.e. not sideways)."

    "In 1484 Richard III gave the royal heralds a charter incorporating them as the College of Arms and granted them Coldharbour House in London as their headquarters. There was, of course, something of a change of administration a few months later and Henry VII gave Coldharbour to someone else, so the College was without an official home until they were granted Derby House in 1555 (the College is still located on this site).

    There was some shuffling of positions making up the College for several decades after 1485 but by the Elizabethan period there were 13 officers in ordinary: Garter Principal King of Arms and two provincial kings: Clarenceaux and Norroy (in charge of the south and north halves of England respectively); six heralds: Chester, Lancaster, Richmond, Somerset, Windsor, and York; and four pursuivants: Bluemantle, Portcullis, Rouge Croix, and Rouge Dragon. In addition, there were at various times "officers extraordinary" (i.e. appointed for a special occasion and not on the college roster) such as Rose Pursuivant. There was also Ulster King of Arms for Ireland, but he was not considered part of the College. By the end of Henry VIII’s reign there were no longer any noblemen (i.e. non-royal) heralds."

    "When an officer died his replacement was usually chosen from the rank below him. So, for instance, if Garter died (being the most senior herald in dignity he was often, but not always, the oldest) his successor would probably be one of the two provincial kings, who in turn would be replaced in his former office by one of the heralds, who would be replaced by a pursuivant (note that the six herald titles were equal in dignity; precedence between their holders was based on their seniority in office. The same holds true between the four pursuivants). The vacant pursuivant office would be an entry level position into the College, which was under the leadership of the Earl Marshal, so officers were usually recommended by him and if acceptable to the crown, appointed by letters patent under the great seal.

    There were, of course, exceptions to the typical career path of pursuivant, herald, king of arms. Most officers never became kings of arms because there were only three positions at that level. When Sir Gilbert Dethick died in 1584 there seems to have been some dispute as to who should succeed him as Garter. Robert Cooke, Clarenceaux, was acting Garter for 18 months but Sir Gilbert’s son William (who had been York Herald) was promoted over the provincial kings’ heads to succeed his father (heraldic offices have never been hereditary but there are some cases of heraldic dynasties, probably due to nepotism; a notable example being the Wriothesleys, ancestors of the earls of Southampton).

    William Camden was in such high esteem as an antiquary that he entered the College in 1597 as Clarenceaux King of Arms (he was made Richmond Herald for one day for the sake of formality before his appointment as Clarenceaux). This caused some resentment among some of the other officers.

    Biographies of the period heralds show some backgrounds they had before being appointed: many had been retainers of either Leicester or Burleigh (perhaps the Lord Burgher mentioned, which seems to reflect the influence these two had in procuring royal positions for their men. Others had been royal clerks or messengers. Some had been members of the painter-stainers company.

    Several heralds were members of the Society of Antiquaries, which often met in Garter’s chambers at the College of Arms. Their genealogical work and collection of old manuscripts went well with the work of the society. Some heralds were able scholars and industrious writers on diverse subjects and had works published in the period, among them John Hart (Chester Herald) who had two books on orthography (spelling) published, William Segar (Norroy, later Garter, and also credited as the painter of some famous portraits of the Queen) whose Booke of Honor and Armes was published in 1590 and Honor, Ciuil and Militarie in 1602, and William Camden, who was highly regarded for his Britannia (although he wrote that before he was made a herald)."

    Steve Chute, September 4, 2006

    Date of Addition: Sunday, March 04, 2007: The Full Text


    Chute, Anthony, d. 1595?: [from Beawtie Dishonoured (1593)] 
    Volume 
    Chute, Anthony, d. 1595?: 
    SHORES WIFE. [from Beawtie Dishonoured (1593)] 
    Chute, Anthony, d. 1595?: SHORES WIFE. [from Beawtie Dishonoured (1593)]
    
    1 Sigh, sad musde accents, of my funerall verse, 
    2 In lamentable grones, (wrought from true pietie) 
    3 Sing you the wept song, on her wronged hearce, 
    4 Is gratefull obsequie to her mortall deitie: 
    5 Sighe: ô, sing Actuallie the bewtie pained, 
    6 With bewties wonder honorablie stained. 
    
    7 Bleed pen in blacke teares, dombe, yet pittie moving 
    8 The weeping Elegies to the worthiest faire: 
    9 Weepe pen in warme bloud, to the world approving 
    10 How faire, how good, how deare, old age did way her. 
    11 Bleed tearès: weepe bloud, pen, sing, sighe on her hearce 
    12 Her gratefull obsequies in a funerall verse. 
    
    13 Carelesse, so sleepe our Loethe drincking eyes, 
    14 In present bewties, deemd devinely rare 
    15 Neglecting th' Ancient wonder time did pryse 
    16 For such a trophie as had no compare, 
    17 That now she seems as if she had bin never, 
    18 Whom even eternitie said should live for ever. 
    
    19 The high-musde period of the storie reader, 
    20 (Wondring or warre, or matter causing terror) 
    21 Omits her fortune, to her fates arreader, 
    22 (Precisly censuring bewtie by her error) 
    23 So she that even the fairest she surmounted, 
    24 Now of the fairest, is the fowlest counted. 
    
    [Page 6 ] 
    
    
    25 So variablie divers in her willing, 
    26 When vulgar rumor feedes on base suspect, 
    27 Impeaching jelousie the best worthylling 
    28 Augments the matter of the least defect 
    29 And bad suggestions secretly invected 
    30 Give vild dishonour to the thing suspected. 
    
    31 For whilst not priviledgd from monster fame, 
    32 The bewtie (of the not so faire invyed) 
    33 Lyes subiect to dishonorable name, 
    34 With hate, and emulous surmises eyed, 
    35 We finde it dayly true amongst the best 
    36 He's most invyed most exceeds the rest. 
    
    37 Hence haps her fortune to be yld so much, 
    38 Whom fourth king Edward, excellently prised, 
    39 And hence it haps, because there was none such, 
    40 Shores wife, most faire, the most fowle is surmised 
    41 And hence it haps, that dead to all disdaine her 
    42 Her wronged ghost survyueth to complaine her 
    
    43 Who whilst she liud the subiect of impietie, 
    44 Ground of a thousand voyces disagreeing, 
    45 The matter of unhollowed fames varietie, 
    46 (Which from her good hap had unworthie being) 
    47 Even on her dying bed devinely sorrie, 
    48 Pensive in hart she weepes forth thus her storie. 
    
    [Page 7 ] 
    
    
    49 But when backe flying from her paled cheeke, 
    50 Bash full Aurora did recall her red: 
    51 And white-lockte Hyems, on her face did seeke, 
    52 His Ivorie mantle, doubting she were dead: 
    53 When red fled white, white red, and both had left her 
    54 And wan apparance of her faire had rest her. 
    
    55 When sincking downe, weaknesse dissolvd her eyes, 
    56 From vitall spirites Actuallie moving, 
    57 To waterish heavinesse dimd in drooping wise, 
    58 In slow neglecting lookes their end approving, 
    59 And with their often opening toward heaven 
    60 Seemd of their vertue and their powre bereaven. 
    
    61 When through her oft and soft, expyring breath, 
    62 (That still reentring mov'd her panting breast) 
    63 She seem'd with every sigh to draw in death, 
    64 That willing gaspes held her eternall rest, 
    65 Then when her head heavie did leane awry 
    66 Seeming even then she could not doe but dye, 
    
    67 First teares, devining speech, denouncing passion, 
    68 That meete in greatnesse of their severall motions 
    69 Fall from her eyes in that unwilling fashion, 
    70 Argued her hartes greefe, and her greefes commotions, 
    71 Teares, the harts dombe pleas: (words with greefe restrained) 
    72 Like loath departing pearles her eyes downe rayned. 
    
    [Page 8 ] 
    
    
    73 Then through transparance of the while was left her. 
    74 Freshly peeres secret glorie of her bloud, 
    75 When even that death, of life that would have rest her 
    76 With feare and reverence amazed stood, 
    77 Doubting, though at the last gaspe she did lye, 
    78 A bewtie so devine could never dye, 
    
    79 When teares the mother issue of greefes restraint 
    80 (Bound in the greatnesse of their owne condition) 
    81 Passive in Action, had performd complaint, 
    82 In seene, not heard plea of her harts contrition, 
    83 When eyes were dim, when panting she lay wan, 
    84 Teares having playd their part, her toung began. 
    
    85 Ah whence shall I quoth she, (she wept agayne 
    86 Opening her eyes, opening her handes to heaven) 
    87 Produce the storie of my lives remayne: 
    88 My life of hap: I of my life bereaven. 
    89 Or why should I unto the world complaine me 
    90 If all the world for my mishap disdayne me? 
    
    91 Then where from silver streamed Isis lying, 
    92 Sylent in Swans: and quyet in her brookes, 
    93 Forsaken Thames, into her selfe backe flying, 
    94 With muddie countnance, and unwilling lookes, 
    95 As discontent, doth make her sad resorte 
    96 As farre as now decayeng Cæsars forte: 
    
    [Page 9 ] 
    
    
    97 There recordes witnesse of mine education, 
    98 And vulgar Parentes, of a meane degree, 
    99 To whom my dying day hath just relation: 
    100 Yet was this meane a happie meane to me: 
    101 That living fayrest farre aboue the best, 
    102 Haplesse in life, in death I might be blest. 
    
    103 But madding thoughtes, ambitious of promotions, 
    104 Nurst in suspect of ages alteration, 
    105 As swolne with furie of the mindes commotions, 
    106 Deemes all things doubtfull, breedes not contentation, 
    107 And this did discontent their mindes did guide me, 
    108 That being young, there were too many eyde me 
    
    109 For looke how matter, admirably rare, 
    110 Drawes musing thoughts, to studdying contemplation: 
    111 And time not hable to produce compare, 
    112 Confermes the wonder with more admiration: 
    113 So, and such was my bewties quaint compare 
    114 Wonder it selfe did make me more then rare: 
    
    115 Yet humble, honorable, chast, and devine, 
    116 True looking, pure, and bashfully reflecting, 
    117 Were all the honors of my mayden eyne: 
    118 In perfect Act true modestie affecting: 
    119 And this Decorum I did ever seeke 
    120 To grace my bewtie with a blushing cheeke. 
    
    [Page 10 ] 
    
    
    121 Myne eye no looke, no wanton wincke affected, 
    122 (The false fayre notes of Syren incantations) 
    123 No rash gase of immodestie detected, 
    124 My chast minde, bent to wandering alterations, 
    125 And yet, nor quoy, nor prowd my lookes were wayd 
    126 But purely such, as might befit a mayd. 
    
    127 Straunge gestures vsde not I, nor quaint behauing: 
    128 Such as the seeming loath-to-looke, do practise 
    129 With fainte denyall absolutely crauing: 
    130 (The outward fault wherein dishonest lacke lyes) 
    131 To these I left the light behauiours leaning 
    132 As moderne subtleties of immodest meaning. 
    
    133 But in my lookes, ciuilitie, and cheare, 
    134 Bashfull, and decent, did import a purenesse: 
    135 And where my bewtie brightest did appeare, 
    136 A low regard argued a perfect surenesse: 
    137 That euen the graces seem'd to say with mee, 
    138 If I were not, them selues could neuer bee. 
    
    139 Angell aspects, of gazing window wonders, 
    140 Angling at eyes, with bewtie in the ayre: 
    141 Bewties that nature from apparance sunders, 
    142 With stolne shame of imaginarie fayre: 
    143 These like to monsters euer I esteemed, 
    144 VVorship their owne selues, for a bewtie deemed. 
    
    [Page 11 ] 
    
    
    145 I lookt: and in my decensie precise: 
    146 (Yet women looke, one, to enuie an other) 
    147 I found that euen the ancient wholy wise, 
    148 Their young conceipts yet in their age did smother 
    149 And euen the crooked old should now dispaire 
    150 At least do hold them selues pure aged faire. 
    
    151 And infant younglings, sucking from their mother, 
    152 Selfe-like-dregs, of vnwomanly surmises, 
    153 Add boldnesse to the mallice enuies other, 
    154 For euen the young begins as bewtie rises: 
    155 And this peculier to their sexe did see. 
    156 Both old, and young and all would fairest bee: 
    
    157 VVhich when my selfe in more iuditiall measure, 
    158 (Growne to conceipt vpon mine owne perfection:) 
    159 Saw held of all men, yearthes eternall treasure, 
    160 And of the most n'er worse then sweet subiection: 
    161 Disposd to vertue, chastitie did will me, 
    162 Leaue selfe conceipt, for selfe conceipt did ill me: 
    
    163 VVhen intertaining to my bewties honor, 
    164 The true instructions chastitie did teach me: 
    165 Noting what hap, what heauen did wayt vpon her, 
    166 VVhilst no dishonoring blemish did impeach me, 
    167 By nature and desire to this disposed 
    168 Soone had my will my thoughtes thereto imposed. 
    
    [Page 12 ] 
    
    
    169 I saw my selfe was absolutely faire, 
    170 Yet alterd not that vertue to a sin, 
    171 I knew a small fault quickly would impaire 
    172 The purest bewtie that should fall therein. 
    173 I saw the sin, and saw that most had done it, 
    174 And yet I had the grace to know and shunne it. 
    
    175 My thoughts that then were bashfull, pure, and true 
    176 Cleane from impieties from ill: from stayne: 
    177 Of nature wise, had reason to eschew 
    178 The thing my nature did so much disdaine: 
    179 I saw both bewtie and the good that blist it. 
    180 Yet by seducing errour I haue mist it: 
    
    181 For loe, those eyes, whom ielousie had fram'd, 
    182 To false suggestions of mine vnstain'd youth: 
    183 VVhat they misdeem'd, deuiningly they blam'd, 
    184 Fearing suspect might after turne to truth: 
    185 VVhen seing my selfe (cleane in thought and deede) 
    186 Vnworthy blam'd: my hart begun to bleede: 
    
    187 Then waxt I wanton as I grew to see, 
    188 Doting suspect dishonour me so much, 
    189 My selfe, yet chast, and pure, defam'd to bee, 
    190 And to be deem'd false, though I were not such. 
    191 And this was euen the first cause that I wrought false 
    192 That though I were yet true, yet I was thought false. 
    
    [Page 13 ] 
    
    
    193 Such hap they haue, haue such attending eyes, 
    194 Needlesly carefull of the not transgressing: 
    195 But carefull parents do the worst surmise 
    196 In doubted errour secretly redressing: 
    197 Yet oft we see, so carefull some do proue 
    198 They kill their car'de for with their too much loue. 
    
    199 Which proofe confirm'd in me was lou'd too much: 
    200 Whose bewtie then, when in her Aprill grace, 
    201 It stood vnequal'd, fellowed with none such, 
    202 As might the excellencie of my fayre abace: 
    203 Loe then began my bewtie first to weame 
    204 When first my bewtie gan to be extreame. 
    
    205 My fathers house obscure, and I not knowne, 
    206 But cloisterd vp to secresie, and sadnesse, 
    207 My frendes misdoubting that as I was growne, 
    208 Tempting desire might win my will to badnesse 
    209 Wise-indiscrete, perforce they me constrained 
    210 To wed my selfe to one that I disdained. 
    
    211 Then holy rites of matrimonie vowed, 
    212 I sold my bewtie, and my selfe vnwilling, 
    213 To him, to whom I, and my bewtie bowed, 
    214 Not for his loue, but for his mindes fulfilling: 
    215 For though in byrth my match did equall me 
    216 My bewtie was vnfit for such as he. 
    
    [Page 14 ] 
    
    
    217 And I that scorning tributarie loue: 
    218 Should haue enioyn'd me to an after duetie, 
    219 Fearing his vnrespect of me might proue, 
    220 Th' incapable tyrant of my subiect bewtie. 
    221 Before our contract came vnto conclusion: 
    222 I knew his loue would be my liues confusion. 
    
    223 Yet miser auarice: (doting ayme of promotions) 
    224 Gaping at rich showres of a golden age, 
    225 As feed prowd vultors by the windes commotions, 
    226 Act monster wonders in a wealth rage 
    227 Carelesse to what accompt the faire be wed 
    228 Nor forcing discord of a loathed bed: 
    
    229 Who sees the secrets of that widow thought 
    230 The silent musings, and the discontent 
    231 Mouing impatience in her minde hath wrought. 
    232 Whose bewtie's subiect to inforst content? 
    233 Or how may we thincke she her passion brookes 
    234 That dares not speake but plead her greefe in lookes. 
    
    235 Discenting vnitie of a discord bed, 
    236 Burning in vapours of suggestions quyet, 
    237 Strain'd concord of th' infortunatly wed, 
    238 Dissembling loue; and framing wonders by it 
    239 Who seeth this, may quickly iudge the ill 
    240 That minde indures is wed against her will. 
    
    [Page 15 ] 
    
    
    241 In her raynes ielousie full of a selfe suspect, 
    242 Deeming all eyes as doubting as her owne, 
    243 Fearing her selfe, her owne selfe might detect 
    244 (For she thincke, what to her to all is knowne) 
    245 And this is still peculier to her vayne 
    246 To hate the thing she feares may doubt agayne. 
    
    247 Which haps from hence, that she suspecteth euer, 
    248 That aduerse ielousie will come and see, 
    249 The close wrought Act her secresies indeuor, 
    250 And Acte againe, gainst her as close as shee, 
    251 And though no fault nor any deed detectes her 
    252 Yet will she hate the thing she feares suspectes her. 
    
    253 Thus waking to her selfe and watching all: 
    254 Discentious vnion in her selfe discording: 
    255 Fearing the fortune worthie may be fall. 
    256 Onel' in a diuers Sympathie according: 
    257 By feare and doubt vnto her worst hap led 
    258 Thus doth she worke still in th' vnwilling bed. 
    
    259 She shrynes her greefe vp in a secret fashion, 
    260 (Which musing silence Agonies increase,) 
    261 And euer dombe, in discontented passion, 
    262 She shakes her head, and sighes, and holdes her peace: 
    263 Her greefe and feare is such she cannot say it 
    264 Till her complayning eyes in teares bewray it. 
    
    [Page 16 ] 
    
    
    265 Looke how discountnanst in her eyes slow mouing 
    266 (The wakefull residence of a discontent,) 
    267 Heauely sighted, sad quyer sits approuing, 
    268 The awd condition of enforst content 
    269 And how her drooping, notes her myndes disquyet 
    270 To be so great she seemes downe wayed by it. 
    
    271 Marke how the down cast lookes her eyes reflect, 
    272 Argues her life, sequestred from her mindes ease: 
    273 And euery gesture, secretly detect, 
    274 The note of silent passion neuer findes ease: 
    275 And though she seemes vnwilling to bewray it, 
    276 Yet in that seeming so she seemes to say it. 
    
    277 She sits and heares, euen passionatly attentiue, 
    278 How better fortunes ioy the happie wed. 
    279 When in a sodaine thought hartely pensiue 
    280 She castes her eyes vp, and she shakes her head 
    281 VVhilst many thoughtes concurring all in one 
    282 Makes her greeu'd soule yeeld forth a deadly groane. 
    
    283 Loe so vnited to a discontent, 
    284 Departed from my selfe, to liue t'vnkindnesse, 
    285 Too soone my ill-bestow'd youth did repent, 
    286 My parentes auarice, and desaster blindnesse, 
    287 That could not see the loathing that is bred, 
    288 In discord iarring of an vnkind bed: 
    
    [Page 17 ] 
    
    
    289 And what is worse: ô this is interdicting, 
    290 The fellow ioyings of a true met loue, 
    291 More then her owne ill, this is still inflicting, 
    292 Which neuer did the willing bridgroome proue, 
    293 That loues but one, and gaynes such good thereby 
    294 He's lou'd againe and so doth liue and dye. 
    
    295 But soone had Sutor eyes, with priuie looke, 
    296 Noted the loathing that I bare vnto him, 
    297 And mou'd by this, they quickly vndertooke, 
    298 Or shame, or some dishonorable Acte to doe him: 
    299 And that this might better performed be, 
    300 They seem'd to mallice him, and pittie me. 
    
    301 As song the Syrens to the wandring knight, 
    302 Th' illusiue stanzaes of their charming song: 
    303 Pleasing th' Attentiue eare with sweet delight, 
    304 But hatefull Actors of intended wrong: 
    305 So sweetly song they songs of loue to me, 
    306 They seem'd, or Syrens, or more sweet to be. 
    
    307 For looke how in a solitarie guise 
    308 The virgine querester of the listning night, 
    309 Chantes her sweet descant, in a flattering wise, 
    310 To gayne her litle freedome if she might. 
    311 And sings the sweeter by how much the more 
    312 She mindes the libertie she had before. 
    
    [Page 18 ] 
    
    
    313 So when imprison'd in precise constrainte, 
    314 Myne eye kept watch and my brow tyrannised: 
    315 Those that their free enlargement did awayte, 
    316 In arguing pratle sweetly subtelised: 
    317 And as their passion did increase in feare, 
    318 It pleasd so much the more my straunger eare. 
    
    319 And so much more as doth the churlish riche, 
    320 Keepe gold the safer, as the culler's pure 
    321 So much the more my bewtie did bewich, 
    322 Them to continuance as they were more sure: 
    323 And these I knew so well to entertaine. 
    324 They would not leaue loue, to be free agayne. 
    
    325 For liueth that Philosophie precise 
    326 Whom documentes haue quyte restrain'd from this? 
    327 Liueth that ancient old, and aged wise, 
    328 Whom yeares haue knowne to make to hate their blisse? 
    329 Then blame not yeouth if want only he wooes: 
    330 Since doting old and bookewise cannot choese. 
    
    331 Nor let my bewtie be impeacht with this, 
    332 That I was woman like, though Angell fayre, 
    333 For him doth puretie fortunately blisse, 
    334 That is not blemisht with some blacke impayre: 
    335 For this we see almost in things deuine 
    336 T'is quickly stayned is the purest fine. 
    
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    337 Neuer did flocke to old Vlisses Queene, 
    338 In wearie absence of her straying knight, 
    339 Neuer more woers in her court were seene, 
    340 (Although perhaps more worthie persons might) 
    341 Then there were Sutors still importun'd me 
    342 For I presume I was as fayre as she 
    
    343 Nor could my seeming true to him I chose, 
    344 Giue answere to their often suites renuing 
    345 My fained loue to this, fayn'd hate to those, 
    346 Could be no obstacle to their euer suing: 
    347 And I not knowing quaintly to disdaine them 
    348 Through want of Arte was forst to intertaine them. 
    
    349 When oft intreaties breeding emulation 
    350 In the corriuall thoughts of fellow louers, 
    351 Wrought quyte chang'd being, and straunge alteration, 
    352 As oftner vowes their constancie discouers: 
    353 For that will issue to her full perfection 
    354 Hath grounded being by the mindes affection. 
    
    355 Then equall in my thoughtes making compare, 
    356 T'wixte old forlorne, and personally young: 
    357 I quickly saw th' Abuse my bewtie bare, 
    358 And my harts greefe sat fresh vpon my toung: 
    359 When noting this, my hart began to cry: 
    360 And I exclaim'd against a doting eye: 
    
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    361 What Sympathie of loue (quoth I) can be 
    362 Twixte crooked old, and excellently fayre 
    363 Discording yeares will euer disagree, 
    364 As different age to graue doth make repayre: 
    365 And this to old men proper still doth proue, 
    366 To sigh they are so old they cannot loue. 
    
    367 Such one was he rest my youth of her blisse, 
    368 He could no more of loue, his dayes were don: 
    369 Crookt old, and cold, his yeares deny'd him this, 
    370 And therefore greeu'd he had so soone begun 
    371 ô ist not greefe that age should so defame 
    372 The reuerent title of so graue a name. 
    
    373 But how can I, how can all woemen brooke this, 
    374 Decrepit yeares from pleasure should restrayne them? 
    375 Ner liu'd they happie day that vndertooke this 
    376 But of their fortune after did complaine them: 
    377 For what is dotage that we should affect it 
    378 Or moody age that women should respect it. 
    
    379 Old quyte forlorne and ouerworne with yeares, 
    380 He makes an infant humour of his age, 
    381 And in his lined browes dotage appeares, 
    382 A witlesse babie in a louing rage: 
    383 And such a humour in his sences rayne, 
    384 And being old he's made a child agayne, 
    
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    385 He calls his Kate, and she must come and kisse him, 
    386 Doting his madded loue vpon her face: 
    387 Hee thinckes her smile hath where withall to blisse him, 
    388 Thus franticques his loue to the fayres disgrace 
    389 Which not withstood she dares not say him no 
    390 ô ist not pittie bewtie's vsed so. 
    
    391 But do not therefore blame the tripping fayre 
    392 For euen the fayrest hath her imperfection: 
    393 Let not precise respect the lighter way her, 
    394 For euen the mayden seeming hath affection: 
    395 And now a dayes the chast deuout will show loue, 
    396 That hauing learn'd they may the better know loue. 
    
    397 Let th' ancient doting therefore be precise 
    398 The quicke ey'd young will haue a time to wincke it, 
    399 Outward apparance can deceaue his eyes, 
    400 And she play wanton when he doth not thincke it, 
    401 For this as sure as selfe truth shall insue 
    402 If age be ielious youth must be vntrue. 
    
    403 Suggesting feare shall make the newly wed, 
    404 Be false, because she feares she is suspected, 
    405 And feare by Arte, to fayning shalbe led, 
    406 To double closly with the false affected: 
    407 For what is their arm'de fortune better noting 
    408 Then double Act t'expresse their priuie doting? 
    
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    409 So may his mariage bed a loue bewray, 
    410 Is fayning true and fearefully rebellious, 
    411 Whom after age in time to come shall say, 
    412 Is doting old, and cold, and foolish ielious: 
    413 And let this title from his name n'er sunder 
    414 He's loues head monster and his armed wonder. 
    
    415 But leauing this an ordinarie shame, 
    416 To that graue being of a reuerent age, 
    417 Whose ag'de graue decensie it doth defame, 
    418 With madding matter of an idle rage: 
    419 As made her monster by her childish follie 
    420 Is reuerent old, and honorable whollie, 
    
    421 Of oft intreating sutors I will say, 
    422 Whose often vowes tempt me to further sin, 
    423 And hoping time my frayltie might bewray, 
    424 They vse all art to teach me to begin: 
    425 Yet though I lou'de not him that I had chose, 
    426 I knew not how to condescend to those: 
    
    427 But hence grew hate, for now I grew admired, 
    428 And by degrees begun to learne to sin, 
    429 Then when I saw I was so much desired, 
    430 I seem'd transform'd as I had neuer bin. 
    431 And selfe opinion wrought so strong effect 
    432 As now I grew to leaue all chast respect. 
    
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    433 For chastitie by wyles grew to be cold, 
    434 My modest bewtie gan to alter wanton, 
    435 I that from me, my selfe, my selfe had sold, 
    436 Found this hard fortune for my hart to panton 
    437 I now began to exercise myne eye 
    438 And gase on all would gase as well as I. 
    
    439 My speech from humble, decent, pure, and true, 
    440 That hid no secresie in a plainly meaning, 
    441 To Courtlike, wanton, pleasant did insue: 
    442 I left my nature to my follies weaning: 
    443 And I by practise learn'd the worst so well 
    444 In wanton arte the best I could excell: 
    
    445 Thus I both wild and absolutely fayre, 
    446 Charm'd with my bewtie, with my wyles allured; 
    447 My want of shame, myne honor did impayre, 
    448 As long as I my selfe to sin inured, 
    449 Which if I sin'd or did with sin dispence, 
    450 My life must say, (to whom I was offence:) 
    
    451 Yet not defam'd for other fault then those, 
    452 The wanton Cittie-dwelling counte their grace, 
    453 But euery toung vpon suspect did glose, 
    454 And being apt new made reports t'imbrace 
    455 I now was fam'd the fayrest she was euer, 
    456 (Which fame in that age was extinguisht neuer.) 
    
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    457 For sooner had no motiues of desire, 
    458 Taught me to exercise my wits, and bewtie; 
    459 But my conceipt could set delight on fire 
    460 And wanton lookes impriuiledge all dewtie 
    461 And I grew fayrer and the oftner named 
    462 As quainte conceipt me for delightfull famed. 
    
    463 When loe: (for who liues so hid so obscure 
    464 So secret from the world, remote from eyeng, 
    465 As holdes him selfe of doubtfull talke so sure, 
    466 But fame into his fortunes will be pryeng?) 
    467 Euen then when we of obscure life doe boast 
    468 It proues at last that then w'are knowne the most. 
    
    469 For then pronouncing from incertaine thought, 
    470 Th' vngrounded storie of a lyer muse: 
    471 What secresie from subtle eyes had wrought, 
    472 Incertaine fame with falshood will abuse: 
    473 Fame secret witnesse to the guilt conceal'd 
    474 Mads all in furie till it be reveal'd. 
    
    475 Mindfull remembrer of a secret will, 
    476 (If secret may import worthie dishonor) 
    477 The periur'd counsailor of the close wrought ill, 
    478 False testimonie of a hope, relyeng on her, 
    479 Both truth, and falshood, in one period bounding, 
    480 Contrarie to her selfe, her selfe confounding: 
    
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    481 False glosing toung, credulities relye, 
    482 Error of nature, bad seede of base sedition, 
    483 Suspectes false daughter, neuer borne to dye, 
    484 Nurst of Erinnis, and of false suspition: 
    485 Prou'd all the worldes plague and inur'd to sin: 
    486 Happie had I liu'd, hadst thou neuer bin: 
    
    487 For till thou first with thine vnhappie storie, 
    488 Ecchoing relations of my worth and me: 
    489 Intitul'dst my name to my bewties glorie, 
    490 Vnworthie knowne, of such a worth to be 
    491 Though not performed in so royall measure 
    492 Yet then I ioy'd a life of quyet pleasure: 
    
    493 So fares th' infortunate whom monster fame, 
    494 Glosing, ambitious, false mus'd, makes her subiect, 
    495 Enioyn'd by prayse, to bide eternall shame 
    496 And rest the worldes dishonorable obiect 
    497 Such fate had I, that was so highlie famed 
    498 First to be held fayre, after euer shamed. 
    
    499 For now ambitious in her fabling humor, 
    500 Vnto my king, my bewtie she dispences, 
    501 To whom sh'impartes a wonder working rumor, 
    502 In speech Authenticall, to charme his sences: 
    503 With Acte his eyes his eares, with wordes she won, 
    504 His hart, his loue, his soule, ere she had don. 
    
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    505 She seemed sober hartie and precise, 
    506 Framing her false lookes to a pleading fitnesse: 
    507 T'vnthought-on truth sh'adaps her humbled eyes 
    508 And euery Acte seem'd her tales truth to witnesse: 
    509 And what she thought could win the king she wrought-on. 
    510 In Acte, and speech she let not passe vnthought-on. 
    
    511 So as when at his oracles disclosing, 
    512 Deuining Proteus, prophesying small thinges 
    513 His selfe from culler from his shape disposing, 
    514 Deludes the sutor hold by seeming all thinges 
    515 Making him selfe a monster to the vew 
    516 Before deceite can bring him to tell trew: 
    
    517 Monster fame so, deuining on supposes: 
    518 Suspitious of her selfe, (her selfe a lyer:) 
    519 In altering tales her flatterie discloses 
    520 VVrought to report ill by her owne desire 
    521 Whilst that the king credits her tale for truth 
    522 Which after turn'd a shame vnto his youth. 
    
    523 For had she bin more ready to report-it 
    524 His apt beleefe had sooner giuen it credit: 
    525 His willing harkning eare did well import-it, 
    526 Was so attentiue to the tale that spread it: 
    527 For this fault euen is incident to kinges 
    528 Too much to credit ouer pleasing thinges 
    
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    529 She told him now my bewties Aprill bud, 
    530 Fresh bloom'd in honor of my flowring prime: 
    531 In high degrees of excellencie stood, 
    532 Ages admire, and wonderment of time, 
    533 Amongst the best, so farre exceeding many: 
    534 As it was neuer seconded by any? 
    
    535 (Quoth she) behold how in her wanton fayre, 
    536 Rosie Pallantias (new stolne from her bed) 
    537 Blusheth her glorie on the morning ayre, 
    538 In bashfull decensie of vermillion red: 
    539 And from his stand the Northerne watchman frayes 
    540 With brighter comming of her sommer rayes: 
    
    541 Or as: whilst Thetis in her eu'ning greeting, 
    542 Smileth her purple on the suns decline, 
    543 And with her Tytan in the West seaes meeting, 
    544 Appeares a wonder, bashfully deuine, 
    545 Such is her face (quoth she) her selfe so fayre, 
    546 She seemes as bewtious as the eu'ning ayre. 
    
    547 Hast thou not seene how in her hemispheare 
    548 The morninges henchman, and the starre of loue 
    549 Vales in her bewtie at the suns appeare 
    550 And seemeth dim'd his glorie to approue? 
    551 Euen so her eyes (quoth she) exceedes so farre 
    552 As doth the sonne the sitting morning starre. 
    
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    553 More bewtie, more deuine doth her adorne, 
    554 Then all Diana's, mesken virgins graces 
    555 Those froes that in the dewy of the morne 
    556 Trip on the flowres in those silent places, 
    557 To which the feathered queresters resort 
    558 And chante them many a musicall report. 
    
    559 Oft haue I seene, when to the strond of Po, 
    560 The floating swans did make their last repayre, 
    561 And siluer plum'd, as white as any snow 
    562 Blemisht Indimions Scynthia in her faire: 
    563 Yet n'er did she, neuer did they excell: 
    564 The Iuorie white vpon her brow doth dwell. 
    
    565 As when before old sleepie Tython dawnes 
    566 (Dew'd in the wept teares of Auroraes eyes,) 
    567 Sweet sauoring flowers of the meddow lawnes, 
    568 With sweet perfumes, vp into heauen arise 
    569 So breathes her brethes perfume, so sweetly smelling 
    570 It seem's her breath the flowers are excelling. 
    
    571 Sung neuer at Euridices redeeming 
    572 The Thracian Harper to the god of hell 
    573 A song more honor worth, worth more esteeming 
    574 Yet Orpheus touch pleased deuinly well 
    575 Nor yet Arion euer so behau'd him 
    576 Although he song so sweet the Dolphin sau'd him. 
    
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    577 Nor that old man, whose musicall recordes 
    578 The following walls of ancient Theb's did reare: 
    579 Nor Poean, pleasing in her sweet accordes 
    580 The curious iudgement of the nycest eare 
    581 Did euer sound were euer song so well. 
    582 But her sweet wordes her voyce doth farre excell. 
    
    583 N'er did her Nymphes, at bold Acteons gase, 
    584 Nor combly Phoebe: (seene with priuie eye) 
    585 Mans sence, mans thought, with sweeter smiles amase 
    586 With richer glorie, of a wealthier dye, 
    587 Then would this bewtie naked as was shee, 
    588 Were you your selfe but priuie too't as hee: 
    
    589 To this she ads (ô straunge impietie) 
    590 Vitious intycements of alluring sin, 
    591 And with licentious wordes, altering varietie, 
    592 She drownes his sences, and him selfe therein: 
    593 So well the Syren knew her song to sing, 
    594 She soone had luld a sleepe the willing king: 
    
    595 And that she might the better bring to passe, 
    596 Shame to my Lord, her selfe, and shame to mee, 
    597 She ads how wanton, bucksome, young I was 
    598 Fit consorte with his yonger yeares to bee 
    599 And when at length she had discourst her fill, 
    600 Away she flyes: abhominable ill. 
    
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    601 But he that standes inchanted with the wonders, 
    602 Be secret stealth dishonorable sin, 
    603 Him from his sence, his sence from vertue sunders 
    604 And now in madding loue lust doth begin, 
    605 And that fowle stayne his furie is incenst with 
    606 By maiestie (saith he) shall be dispenst with: 
    
    607 Then to myne eares (diuyning my misfortune,) 
    608 Secret reportes came whispering straunger wonders, 
    609 And with their oratorie pleas myne eares importune. 
    610 Whilst blind conceipt me from my good hap sunders: 
    611 With charming profers still my king salutes me 
    612 As one for absolutest fayre reputes me. 
    
    613 And those, to whom he secretly commended, 
    614 The inquisition of my bewties being: 
    615 Those my attract, my chaunge of fortune tended 
    616 My bewties worth and excellencie seing: 
    617 Reporte my bewtie to be so diuine; 
    618 As now he prysed none so much as myne: 
    
    619 And soone had giftes, soone had my Lordes desire, 
    620 My soule from chastitie, my selfe from me, 
    621 With often presents taught how to retire 
    622 Tasting the profers of a high degree: 
    623 And then me thought though I ner prou'd before 
    624 A kings imbrace was euen a heauen or more: 
    
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    625 Loe then to Court, vnto my king I came, 
    626 Monarke aspect of my recusant eye: 
    627 Myne eye, the matter of my bodies shame, 
    628 As long as shame, or sinne were nurst thereby, 
    629 With niggard fauor, at the first did seeme, 
    630 As one that held his crowne scarce worth esteeme. 
    
    631 For now my scholler eyes had learn'd to fashion 
    632 Their lookes authenticall, and quainte precise: 
    633 My quoynesse argued a straunger passion, 
    634 To make him so, more plyant to myne eyes: 
    635 And I, whom he esteemed easie won 
    636 Made him my subiect, ere myne eyes had don: 
    
    637 For now I saw: when equallie precise, 
    638 He saw the honor was due worth my bewtie: 
    639 My browes recusancie gan tyrannise, 
    640 And of my king exact a tribute dutie 
    641 And if he profered loue, I would forsake it 
    642 For woemen first say no, and then they take it. 
    
    643 I wrought so well, my face did seeme to say, 
    644 I prysed chastitie, but euen too much: 
    645 My apt fram'd countenance seem'd to bewray, 
    646 A purposd fermnesse to my seeming such: 
    647 And my pretext by working so before: 
    648 Was but to make him loue me so much more: 
    
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    649 For now in me varietie of loue, 
    650 Had wrought such knowledge, by my seeming prone 
    651 As whom I knew quickly sedu'st did proue, 
    652 I knew was quickly got, and quickly gone: 
    653 And therefore now oppos'd I seem'd the stronger, 
    654 That late ere won, I might be lou'd the longer. 
    
    655 For when I saw, him fawningly respect me, 
    656 I playd vpon him with a straunger No: 
    657 And so much more I saw he did affect me, 
    658 As I seem'd further of in saying so, 
    659 Yet then I knew my quoynesse so might proue 
    660 A king would hardly bow too low to loue. 
    
    661 In equall meane, therefore did I containe 
    662 Th' impatience of my seeming loath to sin, 
    663 No beggar humblenesse my face did staine, 
    664 With apt desire to throw my selfe therein: 
    665 And if my quoynesse made him loath to wooe 
    666 Then would I lend him smiles, and kisses too, 
    
    667 Nor did I in denying faintly so 
    668 But secretly seeme to desire agayne, 
    669 The hoped profers my consenting No, 
    670 In secret wish already did containe: 
    671 But long alasse could not persist therein 
    672 For ere I left I sold my selfe to sinne. 
    
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    673 Who sees the chast liu'd Turtle on a tree, 
    674 In vnfrequented groues sit and complaine her? 
    675 Whether alone all desolate poore shee, 
    676 And for her lost loue seemeth to restraine her? 
    677 And there sad thoughted howleth to the ayre 
    678 The excellencie of her lost-mates fayre? 
    
    679 So I when sinne had drown'd my soule in badnesse, 
    680 To solitarie muse my selfe retired: 
    681 Where wrought by greefe to discontented sadnesse, 
    682 Repentant thoughtes, my new won shame admired, 
    683 And I the monster of myne owne misfortune 
    684 My hart with grones, and sorrow did importune. 
    
    685 Behold (quoth I) how in her Iuie hidden 
    686 The eu'nings shame, Pallas adulterate fowle, 
    687 The sitting sonnes sight, and the day forbidden, 
    688 With a sherle scritch her former sinne doth howle: 
    689 And peering in the day but from her tree 
    690 Is wonderd at of all the byrdes she see: 
    
    691 So haps to thee, whom so thy sinne hath shamed 
    692 And made the night-eyes wonder of thy tyme: 
    693 So haps to thee, that hath thy selfe defamed, 
    694 In tender springing of thine Aprill pryme 
    695 But now too late t'haue sin'd thou doest repent thee, 
    696 When thou hast lost the good that nature lent thee. 
    
    [Page 34 ] 
    
    
    697 A wonderment, and monster of her age, 
    698 Following posteritie will account thy fall; 
    699 And this which euen no passion can asswage, 
    700 Nor mittigate thy payned soule with all: 
    701 When death in graue shall low haue layne thy head 
    702 Thou shalt be yet defam'd when thou art dead. 
    
    703 Thus in thy life, thus in thy death, and boath, 
    704 Dishonored by thy fact, what mayst thou doe? 
    705 Though now thy soule the touch of sinne doth loath, 
    706 And thou abhorst thy life, and thy selfe too: 
    707 Yet cannot this redeeme thy spotted name, 
    708 Nor interdict thy body of her shame: 
    
    709 But he that could command thee, made thee sin: 
    710 Yet that is no priuiledge, no sheeld to thee: 
    711 Now thou thy selfe, hast drownd thy selfe therein. 
    712 Thou art defam'd thy selfe, and so is hee: 
    713 And though that kings commands haue wonders wrought 
    714 Yet kings commands could neuer hinder thought. 
    
    715 Say that a Monarke may dispence with sin, 
    716 The vulgar toung proueth impartiall still, 
    717 And when mislike all froward shall begin, 
    718 The worst of bad, and best of worst to ill, 
    719 A secret shame in euery thought will smother 
    720 For sinne is sinne in kinges, as well as other: 
    
    [Page 35 ] 
    
    
    721 And yet agayne, when to suspition wrought, 
    722 I saw the holly sinne, and sullen game, 
    723 Whilst secret acte disclos'd no hidden thought, 
    724 To preiudice an honorable name: 
    725 And those to be such saints that best could seeme such 
    726 As one would thincke suspition would not deeme such. 
    
    727 Loe, too secure of variable rumor 
    728 I gaue my selfe to pleasing disposition: 
    729 Loue charming wantonesse and delightfull humor, 
    730 Forst now no longer peeuish eyed suspition, 
    731 And I thought none could testifie my fault 
    732 Because I thought there was not any saw't. 
    
    733 And though my life had staine, yet this did mend-it, 
    734 That I was sorrie such an one to be, 
    735 My pittie my respect did still commend it, 
    736 And this was commendably praysd in me, 
    737 That Sutor wrongs my selfe to right would bring 
    738 If right might be procured from the king. 
    
    739 And now so deem'd so highly was I prysed, 
    740 No honor was too good, too great for mee, 
    741 I could commaund what euer thought deuised, 
    742 Delight to sence, or ioyes to mynde to bee: 
    743 And whilst I sat seated alone so highe, 
    744 The king could but command and so could I. 
    
    [Page 36 ] 
    
    
    745 But long my fortune had not traded so, 
    746 In doubtfull highnesse of prosperitie: 
    747 Ere murder death had fram'd a worser woe, 
    748 A true example vnto all posteritie: 
    749 That those that mount so high so farre and fast, 
    750 In tract of tyme come headlong downe at last. 
    
    751 For now, the doomes day of my fortune's neere, 
    752 The day, the dome, peculier vnto all, 
    753 Now in a death vnthought-on doth appeere, 
    754 My bewties ruine and myne honors fall 
    755 Such sightes are these vnto the pleased eye 
    756 As are not sooner seene then they doe dye. 
    
    757 So as when for his drown'd-sonne pensiuly sorrie, 
    758 Three times in blacke, three times his golden vrne, 
    759 The sadder eye of heauens restrained glorie, 
    760 In blacke, and heauie secresie did burne; 
    761 And moodie, by restraining so his light, 
    762 In three dayes absence brought a triple night. 
    
    763 Or as, when from some high clift sadly looking, 
    764 A mistie tempest from the South ariseth, 
    765 And disagreeing blastes no sayles stop brooking, 
    766 The merrie sea-mans wandering barke surpriseth 
    767 We sorrow at the sight vpon the shore 
    768 But in the barke would sorrow ten times more. 
    
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    769 So now, eternall night, now desolation, 
    770 Deuining horror to the nighted land: 
    771 Insues to all by sodaine alteration, 
    772 That of a tyrant ill suspected stand: 
    773 But I whom this imported most of any 
    774 Where all had but one feare: I one, had many. 
    
    775 Ah death old father of our common end, 
    776 Nurst of the mother night, and discontent 
    777 Inuying hatreds neuer pleased frend, 
    778 Incertaine accedent, and vnknowne euent, 
    779 In what so much haue I offensed thee, 
    780 That by my kinges death thou shouldst murther mee? 
    
    781 Thou art the father cause I am forlorne, 
    782 It was thy too much pittie that procur'd this, 
    783 Why didst not make me dye ere I was borne? 
    784 That being dead I might not haue indur'd this? 
    785 Cruell in what may harme in what may ill me 
    786 But thrise more cruell that thou wouldst not kill me. 
    
    787 Did my face feare thee from thy murdering will 
    788 That being young, thou letst me liue so long? 
    789 Or hauing such a bewtie at thy will, 
    790 Thoughtst thou the rape would be esteem'd a wrong? 
    791 O if thou didst, withall thou wild'st that I, 
    792 Should liue so long that I should shame to dye: 
    
    [Page 38 ] 
    
    
    793 It was the auarice of thy list to kill, 
    794 Founded my downefall on my kinges decease: 
    795 Such is thy nature, and so much so ill: 
    796 One murder with a second to increase: 
    797 But thus we see who on a king relyes 
    798 Findes death a liue whilst liuing yet he dyes. 
    
    799 See how my end brought me to my confusion 
    800 The common wonder of the wisest eye 
    801 My end the period and my liues conclusion 
    802 Turnes to my deathes shame, that I greeue to dye: 
    803 And that whereof dying I am ashamed, 
    804 I greeue to liue because I liue defamed, 
    
    805 Dead vnto life, liuing vnto my death, 
    806 The end of shame, and yet my shames beginning: 
    807 Thus doe I draw the selfe disdayning breath, 
    808 Hath worthie shame by myne vnworthie sinning 
    809 And whilst at once I would both liue and dye 
    810 I doe them both yet am not cur'd thereby. 
    
    811 For when true penitencie doth begin, 
    812 With contrite sorrow, and repentant zeale, 
    813 To mynde the greatnesse of displeasing sin: 
    814 That shame in hidden silence doth conceale. 
    815 When these faultes in our selues our selues doe see 
    816 We thincke that all know them aswell as wee. 
    
    [Page 39 ] 
    
    
    817 But stay thee here, and plaintiu'ly rehearce, 
    818 The funerall tenor of thine after fortunes; 
    819 O wash his toombe with teares weepe on his hearce, 
    820 Whose death gaue life, to greefe that thee importunes: 
    821 For now behold vnhappely he dyes, 
    822 On whom the essence of my good relyes. 
    
    823 Euen as the gloomie sighted night, with cloudes, 
    824 Obscures the sunbright bewtie of the ayre, 
    825 And in her deadly looke frowningly shrowdes, 
    826 Blacke desolation and forlorne dispayre, 
    827 Threatning with sad aspect some future woe, 
    828 By blacke deuining lookes presaging so: 
    
    829 So seem'd the blacke ayre, that with fowle aspect, 
    830 Feedes lowring heauinesse through a duskie light, 
    831 That ouglie looking darknesse doth reflect, 
    832 From caued bowells of the fearefull night, 
    833 So at his death, darknesse seem'd to bewray, 
    834 Eternall blacknesse to the heauie day: 
    
    835 That so dissolu'd to euerlasting feares, 
    836 That sun-reft-ages after posteritie, 
    837 Might weepe his funeralls in complainyng teares, 
    838 As rightes belonging to a dead prosperitie, 
    839 And sing his obsequies in consorting woe, 
    840 Sorrowing their light should be bereft them so: 
    
    [Page 40 ] 
    
    
    841 For now their sonne gone to his home for euer, 
    842 Pronounces from declining of his rayes, 
    843 A worser night with tyrannous indeuor, 
    844 Would darke the bewtie of their after dayes 
    845 And prowd ambition ayming at a crowne 
    846 Would pull the dead-kings true-borne issue downe. 
    
    847 When loe, discentious in her owne proceeding 
    848 Suspitious in her thoughtes, stil'd in her musing, 
    849 Carefully thoughted, on her owne selfe feeding, 
    850 With ielious doubt her proper wits abusing 
    851 Sighes-and-greefe-breeding feare to heauen doth cry 
    852 And wisht with him posteritie might dye 
    
    853 For th' infant liue of his bloud lest a pray, 
    854 To vultar greedinesse of an easie crowne, 
    855 In tyrant practises did soone bewray, 
    856 Cruell protection would the land confound, 
    857 And then as doubtfull minded as before, 
    858 Feare would increase her sorrow ten times more. 
    
    859 Thus stood suspected of incertaine fate 
    860 And drawne by oft feares to a dead dispaire 
    861 The neuter subiect, that did know too late, 
    862 What hell it is to haue a different heyre. 
    863 And that which all their discontent had sowne 
    864 To haue a king to come not to be knowne. 
    
    [Page 41 ] 
    
    
    865 Now gan the trembling rich, and fearefull-wanting, 
    866 Bequeath their fortunes to their hap of warre, 
    867 And trembling woemen-harts, with sorrow panting 
    868 Greeue that their fate should be vnknowne so farre 
    869 As whilst they yet thought no ill could assay them, 
    870 Vnthought-on death should sodaine come and slay them: 
    
    871 And those, whom diuersly-affecting humor, 
    872 Drew to the aduerse part an other would not, 
    873 When running motions of deceiuing rumor, 
    874 Make them affect the matter that they should not 
    875 At last exclaime as on a heauie thing 
    876 That none should know the man should be their king. 
    
    877 Then what might I doe, where with all to saue, 
    878 Me from confusion, that I might not dye, 
    879 Now when dead sleeping carelesse in his graue 
    880 My king was gone, on whom I did relye, 
    881 What rests for me, a poore distressed woman, 
    882 But hold me patient at my fortunes sommon? 
    
    883 And what is worse, impriuiledge from hope, 
    884 Of my reflowring time, of my new being, 
    885 I saw the bandes, I saw the narrow scope, 
    886 Wherein my sinne must secret sit from seing: 
    887 And this so narrow, and so strickte to be, 
    888 As all the world might my misfortune see: 
    
    [Page 42 ] 
    
    
    889 Why haue myne eyes wept idle teares till now? 
    890 Why hath my groning hart sigh'd to releeue me? 
    891 Or why hath greefe eclipst my sadded brow? 
    892 Since now, I would weepe, grone, and sigh, and greeue me, 
    893 And now I neede them, now I can doe none, 
    894 For greefe, and sighes, and grones, and teares, be gone, 
    
    895 Weepe eyes, grone hart, greefe sighe and take agayne 
    896 Your second quintescence from my second woe, 
    897 O neuer will I wast your wet in vayne, 
    898 Nor grone, nor greeue, nor sigh, nor weepe you so. 
    899 But with my dayes, date all your discontent, 
    900 And weepe you truely, till my selfe be spent. 
    
    901 O you are comfort in your issuing motions, 
    902 Vnto the mynde with passion is afflicted 
    903 Whom wearieng greatnesse of her owne commotions 
    904 Of wordes and speech, with greefe hath interdicted. 
    905 Werte not for you, th' opressed hart would breake 
    906 When greefe doth grow so bigge we cannot speake. 
    
    907 Werte not for you (and yet I want you too) 
    908 My harts distresse, that makes you her relye, 
    909 Could neuer know, nor how, nor what to doe, 
    910 But liue in silence, and in dombnesse dye: 
    911 O none can tell, the ease the mynde doth gayne her 
    912 When eyes can weepe, th' hart grone, or greefe complaine her 
    
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    913 But wanton teares haue dryde myne idle eyes, 
    914 And wayn'd away the bewtie of my fayre; 
    915 My hart, for want of grones distressed dyes, 
    916 And sighes are vanisht to vnworthie ayre: 
    917 Then what remaynes for me forlorne thereby, 
    918 But know my greefe, and hold my peace and dye, 
    
    919 T'is now that I should weepe a thousand teares; 
    920 Now, when my starres in fixed opposition, 
    921 Denounces sorrow to my greeuing eares, 
    922 And tells me I must chaunge my liues condition: 
    923 And trust to fauoring destinie no more, 
    924 For I must begge my bread, from doore to doore: 
    
    925 What fortune ere thou art enuiest our age, 
    926 A tyrant monster, in a madding vayne, 
    927 Returne in furie of thy prowdest rage, 
    928 And Acte the Scene of all thy hate agayne; 
    929 And if ere any bad like woes as I, 
    930 Yet giue me ten times more, but let me dye. 
    
    931 Sayd ere Philosophie hell was confind 
    932 Below the yearth where neuer any were? 
    933 O if it be so, yet withall I finde, 
    934 That hell's aboue the yearth as well as there 
    935 And neuer could Philosophie approue, 
    936 That there was one below but one aboue. 
    
    [Page 44 ] 
    
    
    937 T'is but th' inuention of th' highe-witted wise, 
    938 Allow'd of any there, more then t'expresse, 
    939 Th' extreame of tortures, that might tyrannise 
    940 Them being dead, that liuing did transgresse: 
    941 Nor haue they left vs any confirmation, 
    942 But deem'd surmises of imagination; 
    
    943 This t'was rayn'd on the yearth, and prayd on me, 
    944 T'was this which I esteem'd a heauen before, 
    945 And more infernall cannot any be, 
    946 For hell is but extreame, yet this was more: 
    947 And we ner know what t'is in heauen to dwell, 
    948 Vntill we know what t'is to liue in hell. 
    
    949 O could my wordes expresse in mourning sound, 
    950 The ready passion, that my mynde doth trye, 
    951 Then, greefe all eares, all sences would confound, 
    952 And some would weepe with me, aswell as I: 
    953 Where now because my wordes cannot reueale it 
    954 I weepe alone inforced to conceale it. 
    
    955 O, and alone, let me weepe myne owne fortunes. 
    956 Peculier to my selfe, am woe begone: 
    957 Me whom it euer secretly importunes 
    958 As willing I should weepe my fate aloane: 
    959 O therefore weeping let me liue and dye, 
    960 For none can weepe so worthie teares, as I: 
    
    [Page 45 ] 
    
    
    961 Well may some sorrie, greeuedly supposing, 
    962 Suggest a passion excellently strange: 
    963 And in true Acte pittifully disclosing 
    964 An inward greefe, neere at my fortunes range: 
    965 But none can Acte greefe in complaint so right 
    966 As he that is himselfe agreeued by't. 
    
    967 O God what error is in natures will, 
    968 That nature so vnkinde, so bad should be, 
    969 The poore improuident should endure such ill, 
    970 As through securitie not this ill to see, 
    971 For had I seene before what now I try, 
    972 Or I had fear'd to liue, or learn'd to dye. 
    
    973 But ill brookes th' high aspiring thoughtes surmise 
    974 Coward respect of vulgar education: 
    975 And hungering greedinesse of attempting eyes, 
    976 Deeme nor deuine their after alteration, 
    977 But minde their mindes will, not their owne condition 
    978 Thus mads th' aspiring in her mindes ambition. 
    
    979 This was my fault had worthie fortune by it, 
    980 And worthie was it, since I could not see, 
    981 How discontent is ordinarie quyet, 
    982 To wakefull mindes, that n'er contented be. 
    983 To ioye the sweet meane of a low content, 
    984 But mount so high they after must repent: 
    
    [Page 46 ] 
    
    
    985 Had I bin fayre, and not allur'd so soone, 
    986 To that, at which all thoughtes leuell their sadnesse 
    987 My sunbright day had not bin set ere noone 
    988 Nor I bin noted for detected badnesse 
    989 But this is still peculier to our state, 
    990 To sinne too soone, and then repent too late, 
    
    991 But euen as soard the feathered boy so highe, 
    992 (Reaching his infant thoughtes vnto the sonne,) 
    993 By whotter rayes, in all his highth did dye, 
    994 And gain'd his prides meede ere his pride were done: 
    995 So I vnto the low was made the nighest 
    996 Whilst now I thought I ouertopt the highest: 
    
    997 For now rain'd tyrannie in ambitious throane, 
    998 A true-borne-infant-bloud-spilling murtherer: 
    999 Vsurping monster, yet contrould of none, 
    1000 Fowle guilts Appeale, and mischiefs furtherer, 
    1001 Prowd Richard Gloster in his pride I saw 
    1002 Acte all thinges at his will: for will was law. 
    
    1003 He sayes (and then he shewes a withered arme 
    1004 Dryde at his byrth-day lame and vselesse still) 
    1005 Quoth he t'was thou by charmes wroughtst me this harme 
    1006 And therefore doomes me to his tyrant will: 
    1007 For neuer is th' offended mightie Armelesse 
    1008 To wreake his furie on the hated harmelesse. 
    
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    1009 Beare hence quoth he (and there withall reflected 
    1010 Fire sparkling furie from incensed eyes, 
    1011 Whose madding threat his lunacie detected, 
    1012 And told me he was taught to tyrannize) 
    1013 And then agayne in more incensed rage 
    1014 He cryes, beare hence this monster of her age. 
    
    1015 When loe the seruaunt sworne performeth on me, 
    1016 Th' vnwilling office of a greeued sorrie: 
    1017 And whilst he yet layes forced handes vpon me 
    1018 Noting my bewtie, and my bewties glorie 
    1019 He does his duetie: yet his loookes doe shoe, 
    1020 He craueth pardon for his doing so. 
    
    1021 For what eye fram'd to enuie and disdayne 
    1022 Would not inforce the hart to shake the head, 
    1023 When that pure mayden blush that did destayne 
    1024 My purple cheeke with fainte vermillon red, 
    1025 Seem'd constant fayre not chang'd for threatning will 
    1026 But fearefull true and modest comely still: 
    
    1027 I seem'd vnwilling that the tyrant should 
    1028 By force of will haue tyrant-like compel'd me 
    1029 And therefore made the litle shift I could 
    1030 To burst away out of their armes that held me, 
    1031 But as I strugled bewtie grew the more, 
    1032 Which seene, they held me faster then before. 
    
    [Page 48 ] 
    
    
    1033 And those vnwilling handes that prayd vppon me 
    1034 (Happie they held me to behold my bewtie) 
    1035 Imbraste me faster with still gazing on me, 
    1036 To feede their eyes-listes not performe their duetie 
    1037 For had it bin in them I am assured 
    1038 Such tyrant lawes I should not haue endured. 
    
    1039 But he, whom hell nurst-furie hath infected, 
    1040 Threats death to them, and me that him offended 
    1041 And from his knitted browes horror reflected, 
    1042 Th' inraged doome his fellon thoughtes intended: 
    1043 Impatient, moodie, mad, and full of yre, 
    1044 He sweares by heauen that shame shalbe my hyre, 
    
    1045 Posteritie sayes he (and then agayne 
    1046 The knit vaynes of his prowdly-looking browes 
    1047 Swelling with mallice, and extreame disdaine, 
    1048 Like to an yrefull bore he prowdly bowes) 
    1049 And sweares by hell heauie reuenge shall date 
    1050 Th' incenst displeasure of his falling hate, 
    
    1051 Posteritie shall know thine Acte (quoth hee) 
    1052 And then he bids that my attyres be rent, 
    1053 And termes the habit vnbefitting mee 
    1054 A Sorcer witch full of her fowle intent: 
    1055 And that which wordes for anger could not say 
    1056 A furious acte in iesture did bewray. 
    
    [Page 49 ] 
    
    
    1057 When I rest of my habite and attyre, 
    1058 Stood yet as modest, as a mayd should be, 
    1059 Bashfully feared with the new admire, 
    1060 Of this base tyrants rauishing of mee. 
    1061 Who not content with this commandes that I, 
    1062 Be turn'd into the streets and begge or dye. 
    
    1063 Euen as an angerie Bull incenst with yre, 
    1064 Bellowing his menaces with a hollow rore, 
    1065 Impatient, madd, wanting his lustes desire, 
    1066 Augments his madded fiercenesse more and more 
    1067 And yet no quyet any murther bringes 
    1068 Although he prayes vpon a thousand thinges. 
    
    1069 So vnappeas'd, vnquyet, mad, and yrefull 
    1070 Rages th' insatiate furie of his will: 
    1071 And in his looke, fierce, wan, and pale, and dyrefull 
    1072 He seem's impatient, moodie, madded, still, 
    1073 And not content with this disgrace to greeue me 
    1074 He sayes that all shall dye, (that dare relieue me.) 
    
    1075 (Then from the Court, the martirdoome of mee,) 
    1076 All solitarie, alone, forlorne, I went 
    1077 Thether where discontentment I did see, 
    1078 Threatning my miserie ere my dayes were spent 
    1079 And needie want as naked as was I, 
    1080 Told me that thus perplexed I should dye. 
    
    [Page 50 ] 
    
    
    1081 When I vnapt to frame a lyer-tale, 
    1082 Vnapt to craue my bread with beggar prayer, 
    1083 My poore discountnanst looke all wan and pale 
    1084 Through hungers nature wayned from her fayre 
    1085 I could not: ô shame would not then that I 
    1086 Should begge at all but rather choose to dye. 
    
    1087 And yet necessitie did vrdge constrainte, 
    1088 To brooke th' impatience of her proper will, 
    1089 Whilst silence breaking out to no complainte, 
    1090 In secret passion hid her sorrow still: 
    1091 And shame with fearefull blush all greeu'd did cry 
    1092 And wisht she did but know but how to dye. 
    
    1093 Nor could remembrance of my high degree, 
    1094 Brooke my resorting into publicke place: 
    1095 For I did sigh as oft as I did see, 
    1096 Or thincke that any thought on my disgrace 
    1097 And who dispayres in such a kinde as this 
    1098 Thinckes that the whole world knoweth all amisse. 
    
    1099 But ô, why doe I thus wearie prolong, 
    1100 The wofull Tragedie of my pleasures wayne, 
    1101 Suffices that I knew to bide the wrong, 
    1102 And brooke with patience what I did sustaine, 
    1103 Idly we greeue when greeuingly we plaine vs, 
    1104 For that must be perform'd that needes constraine vs. 
    
    [Page 51 ] 
    
    
    1105 I can no more delate my further ill, 
    1106 Tis sooner iudg'd then told, the greefe is such, 
    1107 The wise-iuditiall may if so they will, 
    1108 Sooner conceiue then I can say so much: 
    1109 Since so much now would call agayne the pryme, 
    1110 And those that tell greefe feele it for the tyme. 
    
    1111 I must (quoth she) addresse my selfe to death, 
    1112 And therewithall, clasping her handes in one, 
    1113 And wresting oft sighes with a deepe fetcht breath. 
    1114 She panteth forth a poore complayning grone, 
    1115 When closing fast her eyes (first ope to heauen) 
    1116 She now seem's both of speech and life bereauen. 
    
    1117 When coward death, fainting, and fearefull slow, 
    1118 Lookes on her fayre face, with a vultar eye, 
    1119 And nils him selfe his force vpon her show, 
    1120 As doting fearefull she could neuer dye, 
    1121 And yet he would: and yet he doth dispayre 
    1122 And feares she cannot dye she is so faire, 
    
    1123 And yet her toung now stil'd could say no more 
    1124 She panted, and she sigh'd, and gaue a grone, 
    1125 And euen that bewtie was pure-fayre before, 
    1126 Wayn'd with her liues expire, and now was none, 
    1127 Yet death suspected still, doth still dispayre, 
    1128 And sayes she cannot dye and be so fayre. 
    
    [Page 52 ] 
    
    
    1129 For euen as looketh at the sunnes late sitting 
    1130 A witherd lilly, dry'd, and saplesse quyte, 
    1131 And in her weakned leaues, inwardly knitting, 
    1132 Seem's dead: and yet, retaines a perfect white: 
    1133 So seem'd her face, when now her fayre did fall 
    1134 That death still fear'd she would not dye at all. 
    
    1135 He saw't, and sigh'd, and yet he could not see, 
    1136 Cause to induce his hope-perswading eye, 
    1137 To thincke that there was any cause that shee, 
    1138 Could be so passing fayre and yet could dye: 
    1139 He thinckes the bewtious neuer life should loose 
    1140 And yet withall he thinckes, she should not choose: 
    
    1141 O what a combat wrought her life and death, 
    1142 Both clayming interest in her end, to spill her, 
    1143 Life would not that the fayre should loose her breath: 
    1144 Death would not loose his right, yet would not kill her, 
    1145 But lookes vpon her with a curious eye, 
    1146 Doubting (though she were dead) she could not dye. 
    
    1147 At last, perswading palenesse seem's to say, 
    1148 O she is dead, her breathlesse sences fayled, 
    1149 Her life hath lost her ioy, her death his pray, 
    1150 And now nor her life, nor her death auayled, 
    1151 O then did any euer ought else trye 
    1152 Then life or death that maketh vs to dye. 
    
    [Page 53 ] 
    
    
    1153 Death tooke delight in her, vntill she dyed, 
    1154 Life fed vpon her lookes, he did so way her, 
    1155 Death and his life vpon her end relied, 
    1156 And greeuing life likt her she was so fayre 
    1157 This lent her liuing: that prolong'd her breath, 
    1158 O then ther's somthing else that kills then death: 
    
    1159 For he wisht that he were not death, she might not dye, 
    1160 Pittieng in this, he greeues he wanteth pietie, 
    1161 Tyrant in Acte, his will doth this deny 
    1162 That her death should conferme him in his diety: 
    1163 And rather then of life he would bereaue her 
    1164 He would giue leaue to all, to liue for euer, 
    
    1165 Rather then she should not, he would not be, 
    1166 Or to a mortall being he would bow, 
    1167 So she might, all should liue as well as she, 
    1168 (For death did neuer doubt vntill t'was now) 
    1169 And yet by death if she might gained be, 
    1170 The world should dye and none should liue but she, 
    
    1171 But as a Christall with a tender breath 
    1172 Receiues dim thicknesse, and doth seeme obscure 
    1173 So darkt with palenesse of a breath'd on death 
    1174 (If it were death that did this darke procure,) 
    1175 She seem's aliue and yet ah she was gone 
    1176 And then life greeu'd, and death did fetch a grone. 
    
    [Page 54 ] 
    
    
    1177 Yet would they part the remnant of her being 
    1178 Her body went to death: her fame to life 
    1179 Thus life, and death, in vnitie agreeing 
    1180 Dated the tenor of their sonderie strife, 
    1181 Death vow'd her body should be eyed neuer, 
    1182 Yet life hath vow'd her fame should liue for euer. 
    
    FINIS.
    
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