  I N Venice fair, the city most admired; Their lived a Gallant, who Daiphantus hight. Right nobly born, well lettered, loved, desired Of every Courtier in their most delight: So full of pleasance, that he seemed to be A man begot in Venus' infancy. His face was fair, full comely was his feature: Lipped like the cherry, with a wanton's eye: A Mars in anger, yet a Venus' creature; Made part of Cynthia, most of Mercury: A pitied soul, so made of Love and Hate, Though still beloved, in love unfortunate. Thus made by Nature, Fortune did conspire To balance him, with weight of Cupid'S wings; Passant in Love, yet oft in great Desire; Sudden in Love, not staid in anything. He courted all, not loved: and much did strive To die for Love, yet never meant to wive! As Nature made him fair, so likewise witty; (She not content) his thoughts thus very fickle. Fortune that gained him, placed him in this city, To wheel his head, which she had made most tickle. Fortune made him beloved, and so distraught him! His reins let forth, he fell; and Cupid caught him. Not far from Venice, in an Abbey fair, Well walled about, two worthy Ladies dwelt: Who virgins were, so sweet and debonair, The ground they trod on, of their odour smelt. Two virgin Sisters, matchless in a phere, Had livÈd virgins well nigh eighteen year. EurialÆ, the elder sister's named; The other was Urania the wise. Nature for making them was surely blamed: Venus herself, by them all did despise! Such beauties with such virtue! so combined, That all exceeds, yet nought excels their mind. EurialÆ so shows as doth the sun, When mounted on the continent of heaven: Yet oft she's clouded; but when her glory's come, Two suns appear! to make her glory even. Her smiles send brightness when the sun's not bright! Her looks give beauty, when the sun lends light! Modest and humble, of nature mild and sweet; Unmatched beauty with her virtue meeting: Proud that her lowly 'beisance doth re-greet With her chaste silence. Virtue ever keeping. This is the sun, that sets before it rise! This is a star! no less are both her eyes! Her beauty peerless! peerless is her mind! Her body matchless! matchless are her thoughts! Herself but one! but one like her, we find! Her wealth's her virtue! Such virtue is not bought! This is a heaven on earth, makes her divine! This is the sun, obscures where it doth shine! Urania next. O that I had that Art Could write her worth! her worth no eye may see! Or that her tongue (O heaven!) were now my heart, What silver lines in showers should drop from me! My heart she keeps! how can I then indite? No heart-less creature can Love Passions write! As a black veil upon the wings of morn, Brings forth a day as clear as Venus' face; Or a fair jewel, by an Ethiope worn, Enricheth much the eye, which it doth grace: Such is her beauty, if it well be told! Placed in a jetty chariot set with gold. Her hair, Night's canopy in mourning weeds Is still enthroned, when locked within is seen A Deity, drawn by a pair of steeds Like Venus' eyes! And if the like have been, Her eyes two radiant stars, but yet divine! Her face day's sun (heaven all!) if once they shine! Upon the left side of this heavenly feature, In curious work, Nature hath set a seal, Wherein is writ, This is a matchless creature! Where Wit and Beauty strives for the appeal: The Judges choosed are Love and Fancy. They rise, And looking on her, with her, left their eyes! Her Wit and Beauty were at many frays, "Whether the deep impressions did cause?" "Nature!" said Beauty; Art, her Wit did praise: Love thought her Face; her tongue had Truth's applause. Whilst they contend, Which was the better part? I lent an eye; She robbed me of my heart! Sisters these two are, like the Day and Night: Their glories, by their virtues they do merit, One as the Day to see the other's might; The other's Night to shadow a high spirit. If all were Day, how could a lover rest? Or if all Night, lovers were too much blest! Both fair, as eke their bodies tall and slender: Both wise, yet silence shews their modesty: Both grave, although they both are young and tender: Both humble hearted, not in policy. So fair, wise, grave, and humble are esteemed; Yet what men see, the worst of them is deemed! Nature that made them fair, doth love perfection. What Youth counts wisdom, Age doth bring to trial. Grave years in Youth, in Age needs no direction. A humble heart deserves, finds, no denial. Fairs ring their knells, and yet Fame never dies! True judgement's from the heart, not from the eyes! These two, two sisters, cousins to this lover; He often courts, as was his wonted fashion. Who swears all's fair, yet hath no heart to prove her, Seems still in Love or in a lover's Passion, Now learns this lesson! and love-scoffers find it! Cupid hits rightest, when Lovers do least mind it! Although his guise were fashioned to his mind, And wording Love, as compliment he used; Seemed still to jest at Love and lovers' kind, Never obtained, but where he was refused: Yet now, his words with wit so are rewarded; He loves! loves two! loves all! of none regarded. Was ne'er so fair! so tempting, yet so good! Wonder not, mortals, though the Poets feign! The Muses' graces were in this She's favour: Nor wonder, though She strove his tongue to gain! For I lose mine, in thinking of his labour. "Well may he love," I write, "and all Wits praise her, She's so all humble, Learning cannot raise her!" Daiphantus oft sighed: "Oh!" oft said "Fair!" Then looks and sighs, and then cries wonderful; Thus did he long, and truly 'twas not rare: The object was! which made his mind so dull. Pray pardon him! for better to cry "Oh!" Than feel that Passion which caused him sigh so. Now, all were silent, not alone this Lover, Till came Ismenio, brother to this Saint, Whose haste made sweat, his tongue he could not prove her, For this against him, that his heart was faint: Thus all amazed, none knowing any cause, Ismenio breathless, here had time to pause. At length, Ismenio, who had wit and skill, Questioned the reason of this strong effect: At last related, haste outwent his will, He told them, "He was sent, them to direct, Where hunting sports, their eyes should better please!" Who first went forth, Daiphantus most did ease. They gone, Daiphantus to his standish highs! Thinks, in his writs Vitullia's beauties were: But what he wrote, his Muse not justifies, Bids him take time! "Love badly writes in fear! Her worthy praise, if he would truly write, Her kisses' nectar must the same indite." "Art, and sweet Nature! Let your influence drop From me like rain! Yes, yes, in golden showers! (Whose end is Virtue, let him never stop!) But fall on her, like dew on sprinkling flowers! That both together meeting, may beget An Orpheus! two gems in a soil richly set!" Thus ravished, then distracted, as was deemed, Not taught to write of Love in this extreme; In love, in fear; yea, trembling (as it seemed), If praising her, he should not keep the mean! Thus vexed, he wept! His tears intreated pity, But Love unconstant, tunes a woful ditty. Now kneels to Venus. Faithfulness protested To this, none else! This was his only Saint! Vowed e'er his service, or to be arrested To Venus' censure! Thus he left to faint. His love brought Wit, and Wit engendered Spirit; True Love and Wit thus learned him to indite. "As the mild lamb runs forth from shepherd's fold, By ravenous wolves is caught and made a prey: So is my Sense, by which Love taketh hold, Tormented more than any tongue can say. The difference is, they tortured so, do die! I feed the torment breeds my misery. "Consumed by her I live, such is her glory! Despised of her I love, I more adore her! I'll ne'er write ought, but of her virtue's story! Beauty unblasted is the eye's rich storer, If I should die, O who would ring love's knell?" Faint not, Daiphantus! Wise men love not so well! "Like heaven's artist, the astronomer, Gazing on stars, oft to the earth doth fall: So I, Daiphantus, now Lover's Harbinger, Am quite condemned to Love's funeral! Who falls by women, by them oft doth rise; Ladies have lips to kiss, as well as eyes!" But tush, thou fool! thou lov'st all thou seest. Who once thou lovest, thou should'st change her never! Constant in love, Daiphantus, see thou beest! If thou hope comfort, Love but once, and ever! "Fortune! O be so good to let me find A lady living, of this constant mind!" "O, I would wear her in my heart's heart-gore! And place her on the continent of stars! Think heaven and earth, like her had not one more! Would fight for her till all my face were scars! But if that women be such fickle Shees; Men may be like them in infirmities!" O no, Daiphantus! Women are not so 'Tis but their shadows, pictures merely painted! Then turn poor lover! "O heaven! not to my woe! Then to Vitullia!" With that word, he fainted. Yet she that wounds, did heal. Like her, no heaven. Odds in a man, a woman can make even! "O my Vitullia! Let me write that down! O sweet Vitullia! Nature made thee sweet! O kind Vitullia! Truth hath the surest ground! I'll weep or laugh, so that our hearts may meet!" Love is not always merry, nor still weeping: A drop of each, Love's joys are sweets in sleeping. "Her name, in golden letters, on my breast I'll 'grave! Around my temples, in a garland wear! My Art shall be, her favour for to have! My Learning still her honour high to rear! My lips shall close but to her sacred name! My tongue be silent but to spread her fame! "In woods, groves, hills, Vitullia's name shall ring! In meadows, orchards, gardens, sweetest and fair! I'll learn the birds her name alone to sing! All quires shall chant it in a heavenly air! The Day shall be her Usher! Night, her Page! Heaven, her Palace! and this Earth, her Stage! "Virgin's pure chasteness, in her eyes shall be! Women, true love, from her true mind shall learn! Widows, their mourning in her face shall see! Children, their duty in her speech discern! And all of them in love with each, but I: Who fear her love, will make me fear to die! "My Orisons are still to please this creature! My Valour sleeps but when She is defended! My Wits still jaded but when I praise her feature! My Life is hers; in her begun and ended! O happy day wherein I we
! My heart to each! and yet my heart to you, To you, Vitullia! to you, and all the rest, Who once me cursed, now to make me blest! "1 Beauty and 2 Wit, did 1 wound and 2 pierce my heart, 3 Music and 4 Favour, 3 gained and 4 kept it sure: Love led by Fancy to the 4 last I part, Love led by Reason to the 1 first is truer. 1 Beauty and 2 Wit first conquered, made me yield, 3 Music and 4 Favour rescued got the field. "To 2 Wit and 1 Beauty, my first love I give! 3 Music and 4 Favours, my second love have gained! All made me mad, and all did me relieve, Though one recured me, when I was sustained. Thus, troth to say, to All I love did owe; Therefore to All my love I ever vow!" Thus to the first 1 and 2, his right hand he did tender: His left hand to the 3 and 4; last most lovingly 4. His tongue kind thanks, first to the last did render, The whiles his looks were bent indifferently. Thus he salutes All: and to increase his blisses, From lip to lip, each Lady now he kisses. Ismenio in humble wise salutes he, With gracious language he returns his heart, His words so sweetly to his tongue now suits he, As what he speaks shew Learning with good Art. Ismenio pleased Daiphantus, Daiphantus All; When love gains love for love, this Love we call! Urania now bethought what was protested By young Ismenio at Diana's shrine, Conjured Daiphantus that, no more he jested With Love or Fancy! for they were Divine: And if he did, that there they all would pray He still might live in love, both night and day! This grieved him much (but folly 'twere to grieve!) His now obedience shewed his own free will. He swore "he would not love, in shew, achieve! But live a virgin, chaste and spotless still. Which said, such music suddenly delighted, As all were ravished, and yet all affrighted. Here parted all, not without joy and sadness. Some wept, some smiled; a world it was to hear them! Both springs here met. Woe here was clothed with gladness. Heaven was their comfort. It alone did cheer them. Daiphantus from these springs, some fruit did gather. Experience is an infant, though an ancient father! "Sweet Lady! know the Soul looks through our eyesights! Content lives not in shews or beauty seeing! Peace, not from number, nor strength in high spirits! Joy dies with Virtue, yet lives in Virtue's being! Beauty is masked, where Virtue is not hidden! Man still desires that fruit, he's most forbidden! "Jewels, for virtue, not for beauty prized! What's seldom seen breeds wonder, we admire it! King's lines are rare, and therefore well advised. Wise men, not often talk, Fools still desire it. Women are books! Kept close, they hold much treasure; Unclasped, sweet ills! Most woe lies hid in pleasure. "Who studies Arts alike, can he prove Doctor? Who surfeits, hardly lives! drunkards recover! Whose will's his law, that conscience needs no Proctor! When men turn beasts, look there for brutish lovers! Those eyes are pore-blind, look equally on any Though't be a virtue to hinder one by many. "Who gains by travel, lose Lordships for their Manors, Must Tarquin ravish some? Hell on that glory! Whose life's in healths, death soonest gains those banners! Lust still is punished, though Treason write the story! A rolling eye, a globe, new worlds discover! Who still wheels round is but a damnÈd lover. "Doth Faith and Troth lie bathing? Is Lust, pleasure? Can commons be as sweet as land enclosed? Then virgin sin may well be counted pleasure! Where such lords rule, who lives not ill-disposed! True Love's a Phoenix, but One until it dies: Lust is a Cockatrice in all, but in her eyes." Here did he end more blessed than his wishes. (Fame's at the high, when Love indites the Story) The private life brings with it heavenly blisses. Sweet Contemplation much increaseth glory. I'll leave him to the learning of Love's spell! "Better part friends, that follow fiends to hell!" Ismenio, with Vitullia went together, Perhaps both wounded with blind Cupid's dart; Yet durst they not relate their love to either, Love if once pitied, pierceth to the heart: But, sure, Vitullia is so fair a mark, Cupid would court her, though but by the dark. Artesia, she must go, the more She's grieved, To churlish Strymon, her adopted Mate; Cupid, though blind, yet pitied and relieved This modest Lady with some happy fate. For what but Virtue, which doth all good nourish, Could brook her fortunes, much less love and cherish. EurialÆ, with good Urania stayed, Where Virtue dwells, they only had their being; Beauty and Wit still fear, are not dismayed, For where they dwell, Love ever will be prying. These two were one. All good, each could impart. One was their fortune, and one was their heart. Beauty and Virtue were true friends to either. Heaven is the sphere where all men seek for glory. Earth is the grave where sinners join together. Hell keeps the book, enrols each lustful story. Live as we will, Death makes, of all conclusion: Die then to live! or life is thy confusion. Beauty and Wit in these, fed on Affection. Labour and Industry were their twins of life. Love and True Bounty were in their subjection, Their bodies, with their spirits, had no strife. Such were these two, as grace did them defend: Such are these two, as with these two I end. Non Amori sed Virtuti. |
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