120 Scarlet and white, their pleasing springs were seen;
And gliding streames amongst the tender grasse,
Thickets and soft winds to refresh the place.
After when Winter maketh sharp the Aire,
Warme leaves, and leasure, sports, and gallant cheare
Enthrall low minds. Now th’ equinox hath made
The day t’ equal the night; and Progne had
With her sweet sister, each their old taske taine:
(Ah! how the faith in Fortune plac’t is vain!)
Just in the time, and place, and in the houre
130 When humble tears should earthly joys devoure,
It pleased him, whom th’ vulgar honour so,
To triumph over me; and now I know
What miserable servitude they prove,
What ruine, and what death, that fall in Love.
Errours, dreams, palenesse waiteth on his chair,
False fancies o’re the doore, and on the stair
Are slipry hopes, unprofitable gain,
And gainfull losse; such steps it doth contain,
As who descend, may boast their fortune best:
140 Who most ascend, most fall: a wearied rest,
And resting trouble, glorious disgrace;
A duskish and obscure illustriousnesse;
Unfaithful loyalty, and cozening faith,
That nimble fury, lazy reason hath:
A prison, whose wide wayes doe all receive,
Whose narrow paths a hard retiring leave:
A steep descent, by which we slide with ease,
But finde no hold our crawling steps to raise:
Within confusion, turbulence, annoy
150 Are mixt; undoubted woe, and doubtful joy:
Vulcano, where the sooty Cyclops dwel;
Lyparis, Strombolli, nor Mongibel,
Nor Ischia, have more horrid noise and smoke:
He hates himselfe that stoops to such a yoke.
Thus were we all throng’d in so strait a cage,
I chang’d my looks and hair, before my age,
Dreaming on liberty (by strong desire
My soul made apt to hope) and did admire
Those gallant mindes, enslav’d to such a woe,
160 (My heart within my brest dissolv’d like snow
Before the Sunne) as one would side-wayes cast
His eye on pictures, which his feet hath past.
The Triumph of Chastity
ANNA HUME (fl. 1644)
The Triumph of Chastitie
Chap. I
The Argument
Chastitie binds the winged god,
And makes him subject to her rod.
WHEN to one yoke at once I saw the height
Of gods and men subdu’d by Cupids might;
I tooke example from their cruel fate,
And by their sufferings eas’d my owne hard state:
Since Phoebus and Leander felt like paine,
The one a God, the other but humane.
One snare catcht Juno, and the Carthage Dame,
(Her Husbands death prepar’d her funerall flame,
’Twas not a cause that Virgil maketh one)
10 I need not grieve, that unprepar’d, alone,
Unarm’d, and young, I did receive a wound,
Or that my enemy no hurt hath found
By Love; or that she cloath’d him in my sight,
And tooke his wings, and marr’d his winding flight:
No angry Lions send more hideous noyse
From their beat breasts, nor clashing thunders voyce
Rends Heav’n, frights Earth, and roareth through the aire
With greater force, then Love had rais’d, to dare
Encounter her, of whom I write; and she
20 As quicke and ready to assaile, as he:
Enceladus when Ætna most he shakes,
Nor angry Scylla, nor Charybdis makes
So great and frightfull noyse, as did the shock
Of this (first doubtfull) battel, none could mock
Such earnest warre; all drew them to the height
To see what maz’d their hearts, and dimm’d their sight.
Victorious Love a threatening dart did show
His right hand held; the other bore a bow,
The string of which he drew just by his eare;
30 No Leopard could chase a frighted Deere
(Free, or broke loose) with quicker speed, then he
Made haste to wound; fire sparkled from his eye:
I burn’d, and had a combat in my brest,
Glad t’ have her company, yet ’twas not best
(Me thought) to see her lost, but ’tis in vain
T’abandon goodnesse, and of fate complaine:
Vertue her servants never will forsake,
As now ’twas seen, she could resistance make:
No Fencer ever better warded blow,
40 Nor Pilot did to shore more wisely row
To shun a shelfe, then with undaunted power
She wav’d the stroke of this sharp Conquerour.
Mine eyes and heart were watchfull to attend,
In hope the victory would that way bend
It ever did; and that I might no more
Be barr’d from her; as one, whose thoughts, before
His tongue hath utter’d them, you well may see
Writ in his looks; O! if you victour be
Great Sir, (said I) let her and me be bound
50 Both with one yoke; I may be worthy found,
And will not set her free, doubt not my faith:
When I beheld her with disdain and wrath
So fill’d, that to relate it, would demand
A better Muse then mine: her vertuous hand
Had quickly quench’t those guilded fiery darts,
Which dipt in beauties pleasure, poyson hearts.
Neither Camilla, nor the warre-like hoast,
That cut their brests, could so much valour boast;
Nor Caesar in Pharsalia fought so well,
60 As she ’gainst him, who pierceth coats of mail;
All her brave vertues arm’d, attended there,
(A glorious troup!) and marched paire by paire:
Honour and blushes first in ranke; the two
Religious vertues make the second row;
(By those she other women doth excell)
Prudence, and Modesty, the twins that dwell
Together, both were lodged in her brest;
Glory and Perseverance ever blest:
Fair Entertainment, Providence without,
70 Sweet courtesie and purenesse round about;
Respect of credit, fear of infamy;
Grave thoughts in youth, and what not oft agree,
True Chastitie, and rarest beauty; these
All came ’gainst Love, and this the heav’ns did please,
And every generous soule in that full height,
He had no power left to beare the weight!
A thousand famous prizes hardly gain’d
She tooke; and thousand glorious palms obtain’d,
Shooke from his hands; the fall was not more strange
80 Of Hannibal, when Fortune pleas’d to change
Her minde, and on the Romane youth bestow
The favours he enjoy’d; nor was he so
Amaz’d, who frighted th’ Isralitish hoast
Struck by the Hebrew boy, that quit his boast;
Nor Cirus more astonisht at the fall
The Jewish widow gave his Generall:
As one that sickens suddenly, and feares
His life, or as a man tane unawares
In some base act, and doth the finder hate;
90 Just so was he, or in a worse estate:
Feare, griefe and shame, and anger in his face
Were seen, no troubled Seas more rage, the place
Where huge Typheus grones, nor Etna when
Her Gian
t sighs, were mov’d as he was then.
I passe by many noble things I see;
(To write them, were too hard a taske for me)
To her and those that did attend, I go;
Her armour was a robe more white than snow;
And in her hand a shield like his she bare
100 Who slew Medusa, a faire pillar there
Of Jasp was fixt, and with a chain (first wet
In Lethe floud) of Jewels fitly set,
Diamonds mixt with Topasses (of old
’Twas worne by Ladies, now ’tis not) first hold
She catch’t, then bound him fast, then such revenge
She tooke, as might suffice: my thoughts did change;
And I who wisht him victory before,
Was satisfi’d, he now could hurt no more.
I cannot in my rimes the names contain
110 Of blessed Maids that did make up her train;
Calliope nor Clio could suffice,
Nor all the other seven, for th’ enterprise:
Yet some I will insert may justly claime
Precedency of others. Lucrece came
On her right hand; Penelope was by,
Those broke his bow, and made his arrowes ly
Split on the ground, and pull’d his plumes away
From off his wings: after Virginia
Nere her vext father, arm’d with wrath and hate,
120 Fury, and iron and Love, he freed the state
And her from slavery, with a manly blow:
Next were those barbarous women, who could show
They judg’d it better die then suffer wrong
To their rude Chastitie: the wise and strong
The chaste Hebræan Judith followeth these;
The Greeke that sav’d her honour in the Seas.
With these and other famous soules I see
Her Triumph over him, who us’d to be
Master of all the world: Amongst the rest
130 The vestal Nunne I spide, who was so blest
As by a wonder to preserve her fame.
Next came Hersilia the Romane Dame
(Or Sabine rather) with her valarous train,
Who prove all slanders on that sexe are vain.
Then ’mongst the forraign Ladies, she whose faith
T’ her husband (not Æneas) caus’d her death;
The vulgar ignorant may hold their peace,
Her safety to her Chastitie gave place;
Dido I mean, whom no vain passion led,
140 (As fame belies her) last, the vertuous Maide
Retir’d to Aruns, who no rest could finde,
Her friends constraining power forc’t her mind:
The Triumph thither went, where salt waves wet
The Bayan shore, eastward; her foot she set
There on firme land, and did Avernus leave
On the one hand, on th’ other Sybils Cave,
So to Lencernus marcht, the Village where
The noble Africane lies buried; there
The great newes of her Triumph did appeare
150 As glorious to the eye, as to the eare,
The fame had been; and the most chaste did show
Most beautifull; it griev’d Love much to go
Anothers prisoner, expos’d to scorne,
Who to command whole Empires seemed borne.
Thus to the chiefest City all were led,
Entering the Temple which Sulpitia made
Sacred; it drives all madnesse from the minde;
And chastities pure Temple next we finde,
Which in brave soules doth modest thoughts beget,
160 Not by Plebeians entred, but the great
Patrician Dames; there were the spoyles displaid
Of the faire victresse; there her palmes she laid,
And did commit them to the Thuscan youth,
Whose marring scarres beare witnesse of his truth:
With others more, whose names I fully knew,
(My guide instructed me) that overthrew
The power of Love ’mongst whom of all the rest,
Hyppolito and Joseph were the best.
The Triumph of Death
MARY SIDNEY, COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE (1561–1621)
‘Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother’, as William Browne called her, Mary Sidney was the younger sister of Sir Philip Sidney. Together they collaborated on translating the Psalms, and after his death she brought out a version of his Arcadia (1598). She also published her translation of Robert Garnier’s Antonius, as well as Philippe de Mornay’s A Discourse of Life and Death. She is the first lady of English literary history. Text from MS Petyt 538 (Inner Temple Library) as presented by Frances Berkeley Young in PMLA (1912).
The Triumphe of death translated out of Italian by the Countesse of Pembrooke: the first chapter
That gallant Ladie, gloriouslie bright,
The statelie pillar once of worthinesse,
And now a little dust, a naked spright:
Turn’d from hir warres a ioyefull conqueresse:
Hir warres, where she had foyled the mightie foe,
Whose wylie stratagems the world distresse,
And foyl’d him, not with sword, with speare or bowe,
But with chaste heart, faire visage, upright thought,
wise speache, which did with honor linked goe:
10 And love’s new plight to see strange wonders wrought
With shiuered bowe, chaste arrowes, quenched flame
While here som slaine, and there laye others caught.
She, and the rest, who in the glorious fame
Of the exploit, hir chosen mates, did share,
All in one squadronet close ranged came.
A few, for nature makes true glorie rare,
But eache alone (so eache alone did shine)
Claym’d whole Historian’s, whole Poete’s care.
Borne in greene field, a snowy Ermiline
20 Colored with [topaces], sett in fine golde
Was this faire companies unfoyled signe.
No earthlie marche, but heauenly, did they hould;
Their speaches holie ware, and happie those,
Whoso are borne, to be with them enroll’d.
Cleare starrs they send, which did a Sunne unclose,
Who hyding none, yett all did beawtifie
With coronets deckt with violet and rose;
And as gain’d honor, filled with iollitie
Each gentle heart, so made they merrie cheere,
30 When loe, an ensigne sad I might descrie,
Black, and in black a woman did appeere,
Furie with hir, such as I scarcelie knowe
If lyke at Phlegra with the Giants were.
Thow Dame, quoth she, that doeth so proudlie goe,
Standing upon thy youth, and beauties state,
And of thy life the limits doest not knowe,
Loe, I am shee, so fierce, importunate,
And deafe, and blinde, entytled oft by yow,
Yow, whom with night ere euening I awate.
40 I to their end, the Greekish nation drewe,
The Troian first, the Romane afterward,
With edge and point of this my blade I slewe.
And no Barbarian my blowe could warde,
Who stealing on with unexpected wound
Of idle thoughts have manie thousand marr’d.
And now no lesse to yow-ward am I bound
While life is dearest, ere to cause [you] moane.
Fortune som bitter with [your] sweetes compound.
To this, thow right or interest hast none,
50 Little to me, but onelie to this spoile.
Replide then she, who in the world was one.
This charge of woe on others will recoyle,
I know, whose safetie on my life depends:
For me I thank who shall me hence assoile.
As one whose eyes som noveltie attend,
And w
hat it mark’t not first, it spyde at last,
New wonders with it-self, now comprehends.
So far’d the cruell, deepelie over-cast
With doubt awhile, then spake, I know them now.
60 I now remember when my teeth they past.
Then with lesse frowning, and lesse darkned browe,
But thow that lead’st this goodlie companie,
Didst neuer yett unto my scepter bowe.
But on my counsell if thow wilt relye,
Who maie inforce thee; better is by farre
From age and ages lothsomnesse to flye.
More honored by me, then others are
Thow shalt thee finde; and neither feare nor paine
The passage shall of thy departure barre.
70 As lykes that Lord, who in the heau’n doeth raigne,
And thence this all doeth moderatelie guide:
As others doe, I shall thee entretaine:
So answered she, and I with-all descryde
Of dead appeare a neuer-numbred summe,
Pestring the plaine, from one to th’other side.
From India, Spaine, Cattay, Marocco, [come],
So manie Ages did together falle,
That worlds were fill’d, and yett they wanted roome.
There saw I, whom their times did happie calle,
80 Popes, Emperors, and kings, but strangelie growen,
All naked now, all needie, beggars all.
Where is that wealth? where are those honors gonne?
Scepters, and crownes, and roabes and purple dye?
And costlie myters, sett with pearle and stone?
O wretch who doest in mortall things affye:
(Yett who but doeth) and if in end they dye
Them-selues beguil’d, they find but right, saie I.
What meanes this toyle? Oh blinde, oh more then blinde:
Yow all returne, to your greate Mother, olde,
90 And hardlie leave your verie names behinde.
Bring me, who doeth your studies well behoulde.
And of your cares not manifestlie vaine
One lett him tell me, when he all hath tolde.
So manie lands to winne, what bootes the paine?
And on strange lands, tributes to impose,
With hearts still griedie, their owne losse to gaine,
After all theise, wherin yow winning loose
Treasures and territories deere bought with blood;
Water, and bread hath a farre sweeter close.
100 And golde and gem gives place to glasse and wood:
But leaste I should too-long degression make
To turne to my first taske I think it good.
Now that short-glorious life hir leave to take
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