THEALMA AND Clearchus. A PASTORAL HISTORY, In smooth and easy VERSE. Written long since, By JOHN CHALKHILL, Esq An Acquaintant and Friend of EDWARD SPENCER.  
LONDON: Printed for Benj. took, at the Ship in S. Paul's Churchyard, 1683.   

The Preface.  
THE Reader will find in this Book, what the Title declares, A Pastoral History, in smooth and easy Verse; and will in it find many Hopes and Fears finely painted, and feelingly expressed. And he will find the first so often disappointed, when fullest of desire and expectation; and the later, so often, so strangely, and so unexpectedly relieved, by an unforeseen Providence, as may beget in him wonder and amazement.  
And the Reader will here also meet with Passions heightened by easy and fit descriptions of Joy and Sorrow; and find also such various events and rewards of innocent Truth and undissembled Honesty, as is like to leave in him (if he be a good natured Reader) more sympathising and virtuous Impressions, than ten times so much time spent in impertinent, critical, and needless Disputes about Religion: and I hearty wish it may do so.  
And, I have also this truth to say of the Author, that he was in his time a man generally known, and as well beloved; for he was humble, and obliging in his behaviour, a Gentleman, a Scholar, very innocent and prudent: and indeed his whole life was useful, quiet, and virtuous. God send the Story may meet with, or make all Readers like him.  
May 7. 1678. J. W.   

To my worthy Friend Mr. ISAAC WALTON; On the Publication of this POEM.  
LOng had the bright Thealma lain obscure,  
Her beauteous Charms that might the world allure,  
Lay, like rough Diamonds in the Mine, unknown;  
By all the Sons of Folly trampled on,  
Till your kind hand unveiled her lovely Face,  
And gave her vigour to exert her Rays.  
Happy Old Man, whose worth all mankind knows,  
Except himself, who charitably shows  
The ready road to Virtue, and to Praise,  
The Road to many long, and happy days;  
The noble Arts of generous Piety,  
And how to compass true felicity,  
Hence did he learn the Art of living well,  
The bright Thealma was his Oracle:  
Inspired by her, he knows no anxious cares,  
Th●● near a Century of pleasant years:  
Easie he lives, and cheerful shall he die,  
Well spoken of by late Posterity.  
As long as Spencer's noble slames shall burn,  
And deep Devotions throng about his Urn;  
As long as Chalkhill's venerable Name,  
With humble emulation shall inflame  
Ages to come, and swell the Rolls of Fame:  
Your memory shall ever be secure,  
And long beyond our short lived Praise endure;  
As Phidias in Minerva's Shield did live,  
And shared that immortality he alone could give.  
june 5. 1683. Tho. Flatman.   

THEALMA AND Clearchus.  

I.  
SCarce had the Ploughman yoked his horned Team,  
And locked their Traces to the crooked Beam,  
When fair Thealma with a Maiden scorn,  
That day before her rise, out blushed the morn:  
Scarce had the Sun gilded the Mountain tops,  
When forth she leads her tender Ewes, and hopes  
The day would recompense the sad affrights  
Her Lovesick heart did struggle with a-nights.  
Down to the Plains the poor Thealma wends,  
Full of sad thoughts, and many a sigh she sends  
Before her, which the Air stores up in vain:  
She sucks them back, to breathe them out again.  
The Airy Choir salute the welcome day,  
And with new Carols sing their cares away;  
Yet move not her; she minds not what she hears:  
Their sweeter Accents grate her tender ears,  
That relish nought but sadness: Joy and she  
Were not so well acquainted; one might see  
E'en in her very looks, a stock of Sorrow  
So much improved, 'twould prove Despair to morrow.  
Down in a Valley 'twixt two rising Hills,  
From whence the Dew in silver drops distils  
T'enrich the lowly Plain, a River ran  
Height Cygnus; (as some think from Leda's Swan  
That there frequented) gently on it glides  
And makes indentures in her crooked sides,  
And with her silent murmurs, rocks asleep  
Her watery Inmates: 'twas not very deep,  
But clear as that Narcissus look in, when  
His Self-love made him cease to live with men.  
Close by the River, was a thick-leaved Grove,  
Where Swains of old sang stories of their Love;  
But unfrequented now since Collen died,  
Collen that King of Shepherds; and the pride  
Of all Arcadia: Here Thealma used  
To feed her Milky Droves, and as they broused;  
Under the friendly shadow of a Beech  
She sat her down; grief had tongue-tied her speech;  
Her words were sighs and tears; dumb Eloquence:  
Herd only by the sobs, and not the sense.  
With folded Arms she fate, as if she meant  
To hug those woes which in her Breast were penned;  
Her looks were nailed unto the Earth, that drank  
Her tears with greediness, and seemed to thank  
Her for those briny showers, and in lieu  
Returns her flowery sweetness for her Dew.  
At length her sorrows waxed so big within her,  
They strove for greater vent: Oh! had you seen her,  
How fain she would have hid her grief, and stayed  
The swelling current of her woes, and made  
Her grief, though with unwillingness, to set  
Open the Floodgates of her speech, and let  
Out that which else had drowned her: you'd have deemed  
Her rather Niobe than what she seemed.  
So like a weeping Rock washed with a Sea  
Of briny Waters, she appeared to be.  
So have I seen a headlong torrent run  
Scouring along the Valley, till anon  
It meeting with some dam that checks his course,  
Swells high with rage, and doubling of its force  
Lays siege to his opposer: first he tries  
To undermine it, still his Waters rise,  
And with its weight steals through some narrow Pores,  
And weeps itself a vent at those small doors;  
But finding that too little for its weight,  
It breaks through all. Such was Thealma's state,  
When tears would give her heart no ease, her grief  
Broke into speech to give her some relief:  
O my Clearchus, said she, and with tears  
Embalms his name:" O! if the Ghosts have ears,  
" Or Souls departed condescend so low,  
" To sympathise with Mortals in their woe;  
" Vouchsafe to lend a gentle Ear to me,  
" Whose life is worse than death, since not with thee.  
" What privilege have they that are born great  
" More than the meanest Swain? The proud Waves beat  
" With more impetuousness upon high Lands,  
" Than on the flat and less resisting Strands:  
" The lofty Cedar, and the knotty Oak,  
" Are subject more unto the thunderstroke,  
" Than the low shrubs, that no such shocks endure,  
" Even their contempt doth make them live secure.  
" Had I been born the Child of some poor Swain,  
" Whose thoughts aspire no higher than the Plain,  
" I had been happy then; t'have kept these Sheep,  
" Had been a Princely pleasure; quiet sleep  
" Had drowned my cares, or sweetened them with Dreams:  
" Love and content had been my Music's themes;  
" Or had Clearchus lived the life I lead,  
" I had been blest. And then a tear she shed,  
That was forerunner to so great a shower,  
It drowned her speech: such a commanding Power  
That loved Name had, when beating of her breast,  
In a sad silence she sighed out the rest.  
By this time it was Noon, and Sol had got  
Half to his Journeys ending: 'twas so hot.  
The Sheep drew near the shade, and by their Dam  
Lay chewing of their Cuds: at the length came  
Caretta with her Dinner, where she found  
Her Lovesick Mistress courting of the Ground,  
Moist with the tears she shed; she lifts her up,  
And pouring out some Beverage in a Cup,  
She gave it her to drink: hardly she sips,  
When a deep sigh again locked up her lips.  
Caretta woos and prays, (poor Country Girl,)  
And every sigh she spent, cost her a Pearl.  
Pray come to Dinner, said she, see here's Bread,  
Here's Curds and Cream, and Cheesecake, sweet now, feed;  
Do you not love me? once you said you did.  
Do you not care for me? if you had bid  
Me do a thing, though I with Death had met  
I would have done it: Honey Mistress eat.  
I would your grief were mine, so you were well;  
What is't that troubles you? would I could tell.  
Dare you not trust me? I was ne'er no blab,  
If I do tell't to any call me Drab.  
But you are angry with me, chide me then,  
Beat me, forgive, I'll ne'er offend again.  
With that she kissed her, and with lukewarm tears,  
Called back her Colour worn away with cares.  
O my poor Girl, said she, Sweet innocence,  
What a controlling winning Eloquence  
Hath loving honesty; were't not to give  
Thy love a thanks, Thealma would not live.  
I cannot eat; nay, weep not, I am well,  
Only I have no stomach: thou canst tell  
How long it is since good Menippus found  
Me Shipwrackt in the Sea, e'en well-nigh drowned;  
And happy had it been, if my stern fate  
Had proved to me so cruel fortunate  
To have unlived me then. Ah wish not so,  
Answered Caretta, little do you know,  
What end the fates have in preserving you.  
I hope a good one, and to tell you true,  
You do not well to question those blessed powers,  
That long agone have numbered out our hours.  
And as some say, spin out our threads of life;  
Some short, some longer, they command the knife  
That cuts them off; and till that time be come  
We seek in vain to shroud us in a Tomb.  
But I have done, and fear I've done amiss.  
I ask forgiveness: As I guess it is  
Some three years since my Master saved your life,  
'Twas much about the time he lost his Wife,  
And that's three years come Autumn, my good Dame  
Then lost her life, yet lives in her good name.  
I cannot choose but weep to think on her.  
Amongst Women kind, was not a lovinger.  
She bred me up e'en from my Infancy,  
And loved me as her own, her Piety  
And love to Virtue made me love it too;  
But she is dead, and I have found in you  
What I have lost in her: my good old Master  
Followed her soon, he could not long outlast her.  
They loved so well together, Heaven did lend  
Him longer life, only to prove your friend:  
To save your life, and he was therein blest,  
That happy action crowned all the rest  
Of his good deeds: since Heaven hath such a care  
To preserve good ones, why should you despair?  
The man you grieve for so, there's none can tell,  
But if Heaven be so pleased, may speed as well.  
Some lucky hand Fate may for aught you know,  
Send to save him from death as well as you.  
And so I hope it hath, take comfort then,  
You may, I trust, see happy days again.  
Thealma all this while with serious eye,  
Eyed the poor Wench, unwilling to reply;  
For in her looks she read some true presage,  
That gave her comfort, and somewhat assuage  
The fury of her passions; with desire  
Her ears sucked in her speech, to quench her fire:  
She could have heard her speak an Age, sweet soul,  
So pretty loud she chud her, and condole  
With her in her misfortunes. O, said she,  
What wisdom dwells in plain simplicity!  
Prithee (my dear Caretta) why dost cry?  
I am not angry, good Girl, dry thine eye,  
Or I shall turn Child too: my tide's not spent,  
'Twill slow again, if thou art discontent.  
For I will eat if thou'lt be merry; say,  
Wilt thou Caretta? shall thy Mistress pray,  
And thou deny her? Still Caretta wept,  
Sorrow and gladness such a struggling kept  
Within her for the Mastery; at the length  
Joy overcame, and speech recovered strength.  
Sweet Mistress, said she, pardon your Handmaid,  
Unworthy of the Wages your love paid  
Me; for my over-boldness think't not strange,  
I was struck dumb at this so sweet a change.  
I could not choose but weep, if you'd have killed me,  
With such an overplus of joy it filled me:  
I will be merry, if you can forgive;  
Wanting your love, it is a Hell to live:  
I was to blame; but I'll do so no more.  
Scarce had she spoke the word; but a fell Boar  
Rushed from the Wood, enraged by a deep wound  
Some Huntsman gave him: up he ploughs the ground,  
And whetting of his Tusks, about 'gan roam,  
Champing his venom's moisture into foam.  
Thealma and her Maid, half dead with fear,  
Cried out for help; their cry soon reached his ear,  
And he came snuffling towered them: still they cry,  
And fear gave wings unto them as they fly.  
The Sheep ran bleating o'er the pleasant Plain,  
And Airy Echo answers them again;  
Redoubling of their cries to fetch in aid,  
Whilst to the Wood the fearful Virgins made,  
Where a new fear assayed them: 'twas their hap  
To meet the Boars pursuer in the gap  
With his Sword drawn, and all besmeared, with gore,  
Which made their case more desperate than before,  
As they imagined; yet so well as fear  
And doubt would let them, as the man drew near  
They 'mplor'd his help: he minds them not, but spying  
The chafed Boar in a thick puddle lying,  
Towards him he makes; the Boar was soon ware,  
And with an hideous noise sucks in the Air.  
Upon his guard he stands, his Tusks new whets,  
And up on end his grisly Bristles sets.  
His wary foe, went traversing his ground,  
Spying out where was best to give a wound.  
And now Thealma's fears afresh began  
To seize on her; her care's now for the man,  
Lest the adventurous Youth should get some hurt,  
Or die untimely: up th' Boar flings the dirt,  
Died crimson with his Blood: his foe at length  
Watching his time, and doubling of his strength,  
Gave him a wound so deep, it let out life,  
And set a bloody period to their strife:  
But he bled too, a little gash he got  
As he closed with him, which he minded not.  
Only Thealma's fears made it appear  
More dangerous than it was, longing to hear  
Her life's preserver speak: then down she falls,  
And on the Gods in thanks for blessings calls,  
To recompense his Valour. He drew near,  
And smiling lifts her up, when as a tear  
Dropping into his wound, he gave a start,  
Love in that Pearl stole down into his heart.  
He was but young, scarce did the Hair begin  
In shadows to write man upon his Chin:  
Tall and well-set, his Hair a Chestnut brown,  
His looks Majestic, 'twixt a smile and frown;  
Yet smeared with blood, and all bedewed with sweat  
One could not know him: by this time the heat  
Was well-nigh slacked, and Sol's unwearied Team  
Hies to refresh them in the briny Stream.  
The stranger ●y'd her earnestly, and she  
As earnestly desired that she might see  
His perfect Visage. To the River side  
She toll him on; still he Thealma eyed.  
But not a word he spoke, which she desired:  
The more he looked, the more his heart was fired.  
Down both together fate, and while he washed,  
She dressed his wound which the Boar lately gashed.  
And having wiped, he kissed her for her care,  
When as a blush begot 'twixt joy and fear,  
Made her seem what he took her for, his Love;  
And this invention he had to prove,  
Whether she was Clarinda, ay or no:  
For so his Mistress height. Did not you know  
The Prince Anaxus? now Thealma knew  
Not whether it were best speak false or true.  
She knew he was Anaxus, and her Brother,  
And from a Child she took him for no other;  
Yet knew she not what danger might ensue,  
If she disclosed herself: her telling true  
Perhaps might work her ruin, and a lie  
Might rend her from his heart, worse than to die.  
But she, being unwilling to be known,  
Answered his Quere with this Question:  
Did not you know Thealma? at the name  
Amazed he started; What then, lovely Dame?  
Suppose I did? would I could say I do;  
With that the wept, she fell a melting too:  
And with a flood of tears she thanks her Brother;  
No danger can a true affection smother.  
He wipes her eyes, she weeps again afresh,  
And sheds more tears t'enrich her thankfulness.  
Sorrow had tied up both their tongues so fast,  
Love found no vent, but through their eyes; at last,  
Anaxus blushing at his childish tears,  
Roused up himself, and the sad Virgin cheers.  
And knew you that Thealma (sweet?) said he;  
I did, replied Thealma, I am she:  
Look well upon me; sorrow's not so 'nkind  
So to transform me, but your eye may find,  
A Sister's stamp upon me: Lovely Maid,  
How fain I would believe thee, the Youth said,  
But she was long since drowned in the proud Deep,  
She and her bold Clearchus sweetly sleep,  
In those soft Beds of darkness; and in Dreams  
Embrace each other, spite of churlish streams,  
The very name Clearchus chilled her Veins,  
And like an unmoved Statue she remains.  
Pale as Death's self, till with a warm love kiss,  
He thawed her icy coldness; such power is  
In the sweet touch of love: Sweet soul, said he,  
Be comforted, the sorrow belongs to me.  
Why should the sad relation of a woe  
You have no interest in, make you grieve so?  
No interest, said she; Yes, Anaxus, know  
I am a greater sharer in't than you.  
Have you forgot your Sister, I am she  
The hapless poor Thealma, and to me  
Belongs the sorrow; you but grieve in vain  
If't be for her, since she is found again.  
Are you not then Clarinda? said the Youth,  
'Twere cruelty to mock me with untruth:  
Your Speech is hers, and in your Looks I read  
Her lovely Character: sweet Virgin lead  
Me from this Labyrinth of Doubts, what e'er  
You are, there is in you so much of her  
That I both love and honour you. Fair Sir,  
Answered Thealma smiling, why of her  
Make you so strict enquiry, is your eye  
So dazzled with her beauty, that poor I  
Must lose the name of Sister? Say you love her,  
Can your love make you cease to be a Brother?  
Whereat from forth her Bosom, next the Heart,  
She plucked a little Tablet, whereon Art  
Had wrought her skill; and opening it, said she,  
Do you not know this Picture? let that be  
The witness of the truth which I have told.  
With that Anaxus could no longer hold,  
But falling on her neck, with joy he kissed her,  
Saying, Thanks Heaven, liv'st thou then my dear Sister!  
My loved Thealma! wert not thou cast away?  
What happy hand hath saved thee? But the day  
Was then far spent; 'twas time to think on home,  
And her Caretta all amazed was come  
And waited her commands: the fiery Sun  
Went blushing down at the short race he run:  
The Marigold shuts up her golden Flowers,  
And the sweet Song birds hied unto their Bowers.  
Night-swaying Morpheus clothes the East in black,  
And Cynthia following her Brother's tract  
With new and brighter Rays, herself adorns,  
Lighting the starry Tapers at her Horns.  
Homeward Anaxus and Thealma wend,  
Where we must leave them for a while to end  
The story of their Sorrows. Night being come,  
A time when all repair unto some home,  
Save the poor Fisherman, that still abides  
Out-watching care in tending on the Tides.  
Rhotus was yet at Sea, and as his Catch  
Tacked to and fro, the scanty wind to snatch;  
He spied a Frigate, and as night gave leave  
Through Cynthia's brightness he might well perceive  
It was of Lemnos; and as it drew near,  
From the becalmed Bark he well might hear  
A Voice that hailed him; ask 〈◊〉 was?  
He answered, from Arcadia. In that place  
Were many little Islands, called of old  
Rupillas, from the many Rocks they hold,  
A most frequented place for Fish; in vain  
They trimmed their flagging Sails to stem the Main.  
But scarce a breath of Wind was stirring, when  
The Master hailed the Fisherman again:  
And letting fall an Anchor, beckoned him  
To come aboard. Rhotus delayed no time,  
But makes unto the Ship; he soon got thither,  
Using his Oars to outdo the Wether.  
His Catch he hooks unto the Frigates Stern,  
And up the Ship he climbs; he might discern  
At his first entry such a sad aspect  
In all the Passengers, he might collect  
Out of their looks, that some misfortune had  
Lately befallen them, they were all so sad.  
One amongst the rest there was, a grave old man,  
(To whom they all stood bare) that thus began.  
Welcome, kind friend, nay sit, what Bark? with Fish?  
Canst thou afford for Lemnian Coin a Dish?  
Yes Master, that I can, a good Dish too;  
And as they like you, pay me; I will go  
And fetch them strait; He did so, and was paid  
To his content: the Fish were ready made,  
And down they sat, the better sort and worse  
Fared all alike, it was their constant course;  
Four to a Mess; and to augment their Fare,  
Their second Courses, good Discourses were.  
Amongst the various talk, the grave old Lord,  
(For so he was) that haled the Catch aboard,  
Thus questioned Rhotus, Honest Fisher, tell  
What news affords Arcadia; thou knowest well:  
Who rules that Freeborn State, under what Laws,  
Or Civil Government remain they? what's the cause  
Of their late falling out? Rhotus replies,  
And as he spoke the tears stood in his eyes;  
As well as grief will let me, worthy Sir,  
Though I shall prove but a bad Chronicler  
Of State Affairs, yet with your gentle leave  
I'll tell you all I know; nor will I wove  
Any untruths in my discourse, or raise,  
By flattering mine own Countrymen, a praise  
Their worth were merited; what I shall tell  
Is nothing but the truth; then mark me well.   

Then quiet silence shut up their discourse.  
Scarce was a whisper heard," Such a strange force  
" Hath novelty; it makes us swift to hear,  
" And to the speaker chains the greedy ear.  
Arcadia was of old (said he) a State  
Subject to none but their own Laws and Fate:  
Superior there was none, but what old age  
And hoary hairs had raised; the wise and sage,  
Whose gravity, when they were rich in years,  
Begat a civil reverence more than fears  
In the well mannered people; at that day  
All was in common, every man bare sway  
O'er his own Family; the jars that rose  
Were soon appeased by such grave men as those:  
This mine and thine, that we so cavil for,  
Was then not heard of: he that was most poor  
Was rich in his content, and lived as free  
As they whose flocks were greatest, nor did he  
Envy his great abundance, nor the other  
Disdain the low condition of his Brother,  
But lent him from his store to mend his state,  
And with his love he quits him, thanks his fate;  
And taught by his example, seeks out such  
As want his help, that he may do as much.  
Their Laws even from their childhood, rich and poor,  
Had written in their hearts by cunning o'er  
The Legacies of good old men, whose memories  
Outlive their Monuments: the grave advice  
They left behind in writing; this was that  
That made Arcadia then so blest a State,  
Their wholesome Laws had ●inkt them so in one,  
They lived in peace and sweet communion.  
Peace brought forth plenty, plenty bred content,  
And that crowned all their pains with merriment.  
They had no foe, secure they lived in Tents,  
All was their own they had, they paid no rents;  
Their Sheep found clothing, Earth provided food,  
And Labour dressed them as their wills thought good.  
On unbought Delicates their Hunger fed,  
And for their Drink the swelling Clusters bled:  
The Valleys rang with their delicious strains,  
And pleasure revealed on those happy Plains,  
Content and Labour gave them length of days,  
And Peace served in delight a thousand ways.  
The golden Age before Deucalion's Flood  
Was not more happy, nor the folk more good.  
But time that eats the Children he begets,  
And is less satisfied the more he eats,  
Led on by Fate that terminates all things,  
Ruined our State, by sending of us Kings:  
Ambition (Sins firstborn) the bane of State,  
Stole into men, puffing them up with hate  
And emulous desires; Love waxed cold,  
And into Iron freeze the age of Gold.  
The Laws contempt made cruelty step in,  
And stead of curbing animated Sin,  
The Rich man tramples on the Poor man's back,  
Raising his Fortunes by his Brother's wrack.  
The wronged Poor necessity began teach,  
To live by Rapine, stealing from the Rich.  
The Temples, which Devotion had erected  
In honour of the Gods, were now neglected.  
No Altar-smoaks with sacrificed Beasts,  
No Incense offered, no Love-strength'ning Feasts.  
men's greedy Avarice made Gods of Clay,  
Their Gold and Silver: Field to Field they lay,  
And House to House; no matter how 'twas got,  
The hand of Justice they regarded not.  
Like a distempered Body Fever-shaken,  
When with combustion every Limb is taken:  
The Head wants ease, the heavy Eyes want sleep,  
The beating Pulse no just proportion keep;  
The Tongue talks idly, reason cannot rule it,  
And the Heart fires the Air drawn in to cool it.  
The palate relisheth no meat, the Ears  
But ill affected with the sweets it hears.  
The Hands deny their aid to help him up,  
And fall, as to his lips they lift the cup.  
The Legs and Feet disjointed, and useless,  
Shrinking beneath the burden of the Flesh.  
Such was Arcadia then, till Clitus reigned,  
The first and best of Kings that e'er obtained  
Th' Arcadian Sceptre: he pieced up the State,  
And made it somewhat like to fortunate.  
He dying without Issue on the sudden,  
Heaven nipped their growing glory in the budding:  
They choose Philemon, one of Clitus Race  
To sway the Sceptre; a brave Youth he was,  
As Wise as Valiant, had he been as chaste,  
Arcadia had been happy; but his Lust  
Levelled Arcadia's Glory with the Dust.  
There was a noble Shepherd Stremon height,  
As good as great, whose Virtues had of right  
Better deserved a Crown, had severe Fate  
But pleased to smile so then upon our State.  
He had one only Daughter young and fair,  
Most richly qualitied, and which was rare  
In that same loser age divinely chaste;  
Though sued to by no mean ones, yet at last  
Her Father matched her to a Shepherd's Son,  
Equal in Birth and Fortune; such a one  
As merited the double Dower she brought,  
Both of her Wealth and Virtue: Heaven had wrought  
Their minds so both alike: His noble Sire  
Was Clitus named, to whose Thracian Lyre  
The Shepherd's wont to tune their Pipes, and frame  
Their curious Madrigals. The Virgin's name  
Was Castabella, Clitus his brave Son,  
Lysander height. The Nuptials being done,  
To which the King came willingly a Guests;  
Each one repaired unto their business,  
The charge of their own Flocks; the nobler sort  
Accompanied the King unto the Court.  
The meaner rout of Shepherds and their Swains,  
With Hook and Scrip went jogging to the Plains,  
Scarce had the Sun (that then at Cancer in'd)  
Twice measured the Earth, when Love struck blind  
The lustful King, whose amorous desires  
Grew into lawless passions, and strange fires,  
That none but Castabella would serve turn  
To quench his Flames, though she had made them burn,  
He had the choice of many fair ones too,  
And well descended: Kings need not to woo;  
The very name will bring a Nun to bed,  
Ambition values not a Maidenhead:  
But he likes none, none but the new-wed Wife  
Must be the Umpire to decide the strife.  
He casts about to get what he desired,  
The more he plots, the more his heart is fired.  
He knew her chaste and virtuous, no weak bars  
T'oppose the strongest Soldier in Love's Wars.  
He knew her Father powerful, wellbeloved,  
Both for his Wisdom and good Deeds approved,  
Among the giddy rout; as for his Son,  
His own demerit spoke him such a one  
As durst revenge; nor could he want for friends  
To second his attempts in noble ends.  
Still the King burns, and still his working brain  
Plots and displots, thinks and unthinks again.  
At length his will resolved him in this sort,  
Stremon and Clitus both were yet at Court,  
Busied in State-Affairs; Lysander he  
Was where a Husband lately wed should be,  
At home a weaning of his Wives desires,  
From her old Sire, to warm her at his fires.  
As hapless hap would have it, it fell out  
That at that time a rude uncivil rout  
Of outlawed Mutineers, had gathered head  
Upon the Frontiers, as their fury led;  
Burning and spoiling all; the Council sit  
Advising to suppress them; 'twas thought fit  
Some strength should go against them, all this made  
For the King's purpose? then a care was had  
Who should conduct those Forces, some were named,  
The Choice one likes, is by another blamed.  
Philemon gives them line enough, for he  
Had fore-projected who the man should be:  
Yet held his peace, 'twas not his cue as yet  
To speak his mind; at length they do entreat  
That he would name the man: the King did so,  
Lysander was the man, he named to go:  
His judgement was agreed on; th' two old men,  
Stremon and Clitus thought them honoured, when  
They heard him name Lysander, and with glad ears  
Welcome his kill favour without fears.  
He makes him Captain of his strongest Fort,  
Thus Wolf-like he did welcome him to Court.  
The days were set for his dispatch; mean space  
He takes his leave of his Wives chaste embrace:  
It little boots her love to weep him back,  
Nor stood it with his honour to be flack  
In such a noble enterprise; he went  
Armed with strong hopes, and the King's blandishment.  
No sooner was he gone, but the sly King  
Rid of his chiefest fears, began to sing  
A requiem to his thoughts: th' Affairs of State  
He left unto his Nobles to debate;  
And minds his sport, the Hunting of the Hare,  
The Fox and Wolf; this took up all his care.  
Upon a day, as in a tedious chase  
He lost his Train that did outride his Race;  
Or rather of set purpose, slacked his coarse,  
Intending to excuse it on his Horse,  
He stole to Stremons lodge, the day was spent,  
The fittest time to act his foul intent.  
He knocks at Stremons' Lodge, but no man hears,  
All were a-bed, and sleep had charmed their ears,  
He knocks again; with that he heard a groan,  
Powerful enough t'have turned a cruel one  
From his bad purpose? Who's within, said he,  
If you be good folks, rise and pity me.  
But none replied: another groan he hears,  
And cruel fortune drew him by the ears  
To what he wished for. Castabella yet  
Was not in bed, sorrow denied to let  
Her moist eyes sleep, for her increasing fears  
Conspired to keep them open with her tears.  
A little from the Lodge, on the descent  
Of the small Hill it stood on, a way bend  
Unto an Orchard thick with Trees beset;  
Through which there ran a Crystal Rivelet,  
Whose purling streams that wrangled with the stones,  
In trembling accents, echoed back her groans,  
Here in an arbour Castabella sat,  
Full of sad thoughts, and most disconsolate.  
The door was open, and in Philemon steals,  
But in a Bush a while himself conceals,  
Till he the voice might more distinctly hear,  
And better be resolved that she was there;  
And so he did: fortune his Bawd became,  
And led him on to Lust. The fearless Dame  
After a deep fetched sigh, thus faintly spoke,  
O my Lysander, why wouldst thou not take  
Me along with thee; then a flood of tears  
Closed up her lips, When this had reached his ears,  
Like a fell Wolf he rushed upon his prey,  
Stopping her cries with kisses: weep she may  
And lift her hands to Heaven, but in vain,  
It was too late for help t'undo again  
What he had done. Her honour more to her  
Was than her life, the cruel Murderer  
Had robbed her of, and glories in his prize.  
It is no news for lust to tyrannize.  
He thanked this Fortune that did so prevent  
His first design by shortening his intent.  
The Black deed done, the Ravisher hies thence,  
Leaving his shame to murder innocence:  
He had his wish, and that which gilt his Sin,  
He knew suspicion could not suspect him.  
Report, the blab-tongue of those tell-tale times,  
That rather magnifies than lessens Crimes,  
Slept when this act was done, such thoughts as these,  
Seared up his Conscience with a carelessness.  
Poor Castabella having now lost all,  
That she thought worth the losing, would not call  
For help to be a witness of her shame:  
It was too late, nor did she know his name  
That had undone her: cruel thoughts arise,  
And wanting other vent, break through her eyes.  
Shame prompts her to despair, and let out life,  
Revenge advised her to conceal her grief:  
Fear checks Revenge, and Honour chides her Fear,  
Within her Breast such mutinous thoughts there were  
She could resolve on nothing: day then breaks,  
And Shame in blushes risen upon her cheeks.  
With that she spies a Ring lie at her feet,  
She took it up, and glad she was to see't.  
By this she thought, if Fate so pitied her,  
In time she might find out the Ravisher.  
Revenge then whispers in her ear afresh,  
Be bold, she looked upon't, but could not guests  
Whose it might be; yet she remembered well  
she'd seen't before, but where she could not tell  
With that she threw it from her in disdain,  
Yet thought wrought so she took it up again;  
And looking better on't, within the Ring,  
She spied the Name and Motto of the King:  
Whereat she starts: O ye blessed powers! said she,  
Thanks for this happy strange discovery.  
She wrapped it up, and to the Lodge she went  
To study some revenge; 'twas her intent  
By some devise to 'tPhilemon thither,  
And there to end his Life and hers together:  
But that was crossed, Lysander back returns,  
Crowned with a noble Victory and Horns  
That he ne'er dreamt of: to his Wife he goes,  
And finds her weeping, no content she shows  
At his safe coming back; but speaks in Tears.  
He loved too well to harbour jealous Fears.  
He wiped her Eyes, and kissed her to invite  
A gentle welcome from her if he might:  
But 'twould not be; He asked her why she wept,  
And who had wronged her; still she silence kept,  
And turns away: then he began to doubt  
All was not well; to find the matter out,  
He tries all means; and first with mild entreats  
He woes her to disclose it: then with threats  
He seeks to wring it from her. Much ado  
She told him the sad story of her woe.  
The Ring confirmed the truth of her report.  
And he believed her strait: He hies to Court  
T' acquaint his Fathers with it. All three vow  
To be revenged, but first they study how.  
Well, to be brief, they muster up their Friends,  
And now Philemon began to guests their ends,  
And counterworks t'oppose them, gathers strength  
And boldly goes to meet them; at the length  
They Battle join: Philemon put to flight,  
And many thousands butchered in the Fight;  
Amongst whom old Stremon foll, whose noble spirit  
Outdid his Age, and by his brave merit,  
Did rein himself so glorious a name,  
Arcadia to this day adores the same.  
Lysander's wrongs spurred on his swift pursuit  
After Philemon, when a sudden shout  
Amongst his Soldiers caused him sound retreat,  
Fearing some mutiny, all in a sweat  
A Messenger ran towered him, crying out,  
Return my Lord, the cunning Wolf's found out.  
Philemon's slain, and you proclaimed King:  
With that again the echoing Valleys ring.  
The Foe it seems had wheeled about a Mere,  
In policy to set upon the Rear  
Of bold Lysander's Troops; they faced about  
And meet his Charge; when a brave Youth stepped out  
And singles forth the King: they used no words,  
The Cause was to be pleaded by their Swords,  
Which anger whet: no blow was given in vain,  
Now they retire, and then come on again;  
Like two Wild Boars for mastery they strive,  
And many wounds on either side they give:  
Then grappling both together, both fell down,  
Fainting for want of Blood; when with a frown,  
As killing as his Sword, the brave Youth gave  
His Foe a Wound that sent him to his Grave.  
Take that thou murderer of my Honour's name,  
Said the brave Youth, or rather the brave Dame;  
For so it proved: yet her Disguise was such,  
The sharpest eye could not discern so much,  
Until Lysander came, his piercing eye  
Soon found who 'twas, he knew her presently;  
'Twas Castabella his unhappy Wife,  
Who losing Honour, would not keep her Life;  
But thrusts herself into the midst of danger,  
To seek out Death, and would have died a Stranger  
Unto Lysander's knowledge; had not he  
Informed the world it could be none but she  
That durst win Honour so. The Noble Dame  
Was not quite dead when as Lysander came,  
Who stooping down to kiss her, with his Tears  
T'embalm her for a Grave, herself she rears,  
And meeting his Embrace; welcome, said she,  
Welcome Lysander; since I have seen thee  
I dare Death's worst: then sinking down she died,  
The honour of her Sex: all means were tried  
To call back Life, but Medicines came late,  
Her Blood was spent, and she subscribes to Fate.  
Lysander was about to sacrifice  
Himself t'appease th' incensed Destinies;  
And had not one stepped in and held his hand,  
He'ad done the deed, and so undone the Land.  
Peace was proclaimed to all that would submit  
On the Foes side: the Soldiers dig a pit  
And tumble in Philemon, none there were,  
Or Friend or Foe, that seemed to shed a Tear  
To deck his Hearse withal. Thus his base Lust  
Untimely laid his Glory in the Dust.  
But Castabella she outlived her shame,  
And Shepherds Swains still Carol out her Fame▪  
She needs no Poet's Pen to mount it high,  
Lysander wept her out an Elegy.  
Her Obsequies once o'er, the King was Crowned,  
And Wars loud noise with Peals of Joy was drowned:  
janus his Temple was shut up, and peace  
Ushered in Plenty by their Flocks increase;  
But long it lasted not, Philemon's Friends  
Soon gathered head again. Lysander sends  
Some Force against them, but with bad success,  
The Foe prevails and seals their hardiness.  
Lysander goes in person and is slain,  
Philemon's Friends then make a King again;  
A hot-spurred Youth height Hylas, such a one  
As pride had fitted for Commotion,  
About that time in a tempestuous night,  
A Ship that by misfortune chanced to light  
Upon the Rocks that are upon our Coast,  
Was split to pieces, all the lading lost,  
And all the Passengers, save a Young man  
That Fortune rescued from the Ocean.  
When day was broke, and I put out to Sea,  
To fish out a poor living; by the Lea  
As I was coasting, I might well espy  
The Carcase of a Ship: my Man and I  
Made straightway towered it, and with Wind and Oar,  
We quickly reached it: 'twas not far from Shoar,  
About some half a League; we viewed the Wrack,  
But found no people in't; when looking back  
Upon a shelving Rock, a man we 'spi'd,  
As we thought, dead, and cast up by the Tide:  
But by good hap he was not, yet well-nigh  
Starved with the Cold, and the Seas cruelty.  
We thawed him into life again, but he  
As if he relished not our Charity,  
Seemed to be angry: and had we not been,  
The Youth had leapt into the Sea again.  
Perforce we brought him home, where with warm Potions,  
We thawed his numbed Joints into their motions▪  
And chiding his despair, with good advice  
I warmed his hopes that else had froze to Ice.  
A braver Youth mine eye ne'er looked upon,  
Nor of a sweeter disposition.  
Old Cleon could no longer silence keep,  
But asked his name, and as he asked did weep.  
Was he your friend, quoth Rhotus. he's alive,  
Knew you as much as I, you would not grieve,  
He calls himself Alexis, now our King,  
And long may we enjoy his governing:  
But he forgets who saved his life; great men  
Seldom remember to look down again.  
There was a time when I'd have scorned to crave  
A thanks from any, till a churlish wave  
Washed off my friends, and thrust me from the Court,  
To dwell with labour; but I thank them for't.  
Content dwells not at Court; but I have done,  
And if you please, my Lord, I will go on  
Where I left off a while: Hyla● being King,  
Puffed up with Pride, by often Conquering.  
He fell to riot, King and People both  
Laid Arms aside to fall in love with Sloth.  
The Downs were unfrequented, Shepherd Swains  
Were very rarely seen to haunt the Plains.  
The Plough lay still, the Earth Manuring needs,  
And stead of Corn brought forth a Crop of Weeds.  
No Courts of Justice kept, no law observed,  
No hand to punish such as ill deserved.  
Their Will was then their Law, who durst resist,  
Hylas connives, and all did what they list.  
Lysander's Friends were scattered here and there,  
And lived obscurely circled in with fear.  
Some Tilled the Ground, whilst others fed their Flocks,  
Under the covert of some hanging Rocks.  
Others felled Wood, and some die weavy Yarn,  
The Women Spun; thus all were forced to earn  
Their Bread by sweaty Labour: amongst the many,  
I and some others fished to get a penny.  
And had I but my Daughter which I lost  
In the Foes hot pursuit; (for without boast,  
She was a good one) I should think me blest,  
Nor would I change my Calling with the best.  
She was my only comfort; but she's dead,  
Or, which is worse, I fear me ravished.  
But I digress too much: upon a day  
When cares triumphs gave us leave to play,  
We all assembled on a spacious Green,  
To tell old Tales, and choose our Summer's Queen.  
Thither Alexis, my late Shipwrackt Guest,  
At my entreaty came, and amongst the rest,  
In their Disports made one; no exercise  
Did come amiss to him; for all he tries,  
And won the prize in all: the graver sort  
That minded more their Safety than their Sport,  
Began to bethink them on their former State,  
And on their Country's Fractions ruminate.  
They had intelligence how matters went  
In Hylas' Court, whose people's minds were bend  
To nought but idleness; that fruitful Sin  
That never bears a Child that's not a Twin.  
They heard they had unmanned themselves by ease,  
And how security like a Disease  
Spread o'er their Dwellings, how their profused hand  
Squandered away the plenty of the Land:  
How civil Discords sprang up every hour,  
And quenched themselves in Blood; how the Laws power  
Was wholly slighted, Justice made a jeer,  
And Sins unheard of practised without fear.  
The State was sick at heart, and now or never  
Was time to cure it: all consult together,  
How to recover what they lost of late,  
Their Liberty and Means; long they debate  
About the matter: all resolve to fight,  
And by the Law of Arms to plead their Right.  
But now they want a Head, and whom to trust  
They could not well resolve on, choose they must  
One of necessity: the Civil Wars  
Had scarce left any that durst trade for Scars.  
The flower of Youth was gone, save four or five  
Were left to keep Arcadia's Fame alive;  
Yet all too young to govern, all about  
They view the Youth to single some one out.  
By this time they had crowned Alexis brow  
With Wreaths of Bays, and all the Youth allow  
Of him a Victor; many Odes they sing  
In praise of him; then to the Bower they bring  
Their noble Champion, where, as they were wont,  
They lead him to a little Turfie Mount  
Erected for that purpose, where all might  
Both hear and see the Victor with delight.  
He had a manlike Look, and sparkling Eye,  
A Front whereon sat such a Majesty,  
As awed all his Beholders; his long Hair,  
After the Grecian fashion, without care  
Hung down loosely on his Shoulders, black as Jet▪  
And shining with his oily honoured Sweat,  
His body straight, and well proportioned, Tall,  
Well Limned, well Set, long Armed; one hardly shall  
Among a thousand● find one in all points,  
So well compact, and Sinewed in his Joints.  
But that which crowned the rest, he had a Tongue  
Whose sweetness Toaled unwillingness along,  
And drew attention from the dullest ear,  
His words so oily smooth, and winning were.  
Rhotus was going on when day appeared,  
And with its light the cloudy welkin cleared.  
They heard the Milkmaids hollow home their Kine,  
And to thtir Troughs knock in their straggling Swine.  
The Birds began sing, the Calves and Lambkins bleat,  
Wanting the milky Breakfast of a Teat.  
With that he broke off his Discourse, intending  
Some fit time to give his Story ending.  
Some household business called his care ashore,  
And Cleon thought on what concerned him more.  
His men weigh Anchor, and with Rhotus sail  
Toward the Land, they had so strong a gale;  
They quickly reached the Port where Rhotus dwelled,  
Who with old Cleon with fair words so dealt,  
He won him to his Cell; where as his Guest  
We'll leave him, earnest to hear out the rest.   

By this time had Anaxus ta'en his leave  
Of his kind Sister, that afresh can grieve  
For his departure, she entreats in vain,  
And spends her tears to wash him back again,  
But 'twould not be; he leaves her to her woes,  
And in the search of his Clarinda goes.  
He scarce had travelled two days journey thence,  
When hying to a shade, for his defence  
Against the Sun's scorching heat, who then began  
T' approach the point of the Meridian.  
Within a little silent Grove hard by  
Upon a small ascent, he might espy  
A stately Chapel, richly gilded without,  
Beset with shady Sycamores about:  
And ever and anon he might well hear  
A sound of Music steal in at his ear  
As the wind gave it being: so sweet an Air  
Would strike a Siren mute and ravish her.  
He sees no creature that might cause the same,  
But he was sure that from the Grove it came.  
And to the Grove he goes to satisfy  
The curiosity of Ear and Eye.  
Through the thick leaved Boughs he makes a way,  
Nor could the scratching Brambles make him stay;  
But on he rushes, and climbs up the Hill,  
Thorough a glade he saw, and heard his fill.  
A hundred Virgins there he might espy  
Prostrate before a Marble Deity:  
Which by its Portraiture appeared to be  
The image of Diana: on their knee  
They tendered their Devotions: with sweet Airs,  
Offering the Incense of their Praise and Prayers.  
Their Garments all alike; beneath their Paps  
Buckled together with a silver Claps,  
And cross their snowy Silken Robes, they wore  
An Azure Scarf, with Stars Embroidered o'er.  
Their Hair in curious Tresses was knit up,  
Crowned with a Silver Crescent on the top.  
A Silver Bow their left hand held, their right  
For their defence, held a sharp headed flight  
Drawn from their broidered Quiver, neatly tied  
In Silken Cords, and fastened to their side.  
Under their Vestments something short before  
White Buskins laced with ribbanding they wore.  
It was a catching sight for a young eye,  
That Love had fired before, he might espy  
One, whom the rest had spherelike circled round,  
Whose head was with a golden Chaplet crowned.  
He could not see her Face, only his ear  
Was blest with the sweet words that came from her.  
He was about removing; when a crew  
Of lawless Thiefs their horny Trumpets blew,  
And from behind the Temple unawares  
Rushed in upon them, busy at their Prayers.  
The Virgins to their weak resistance fly,  
And made a show as if they meant to try  
The mastery by opposing; but poor souls  
They soon gave back, and ran away in shoals.  
Yet some were taken, such as scorn of fear  
Had left behind to fortify the rear.  
Amongst whom their Queen was one, a braver Maid  
Anaxus ne'er beheld; she sued and prayed  
For life, to those that had no pity left,  
Unless in murdering those they had bereft  
Of honour. This incensed Anaxus rage,  
And in he rushed, unlooked for on that stage:  
Then out his Sword he draws, and dealt such blows  
That struck amazement in his numerous foes.  
Twenty to one there were, too great an odds,  
Had not his cause drawn succour from the gods.  
The first he coped with was their Captain, whom  
His Sword sent headless to seek out a Tomb.  
This cowarded the valour of the rest,  
A second drops to make the Worms a Feast.  
A third and fourth soon followed, six he slew,  
And so dismayed the fearful residue,  
That down the Hill they fled: he after hies  
And fell another Villain, as he flies.  
To the thick Wood he chased them, 'twas in vain  
To follow further; up the Hill again  
Weary Anaxus climbs, in hope to find  
The rescued Virgins he had left behind.  
But all were gone; fear lent them wings, and they  
Fled to their home affrighted any way.  
They durst not stay to hazard the event  
Of such a doubtful combat; yet they lent  
Him many a Prayer to bring on good success,  
And thanked him for his noble hardiness,  
That freed them from the danger they were in,  
And met the shock himself; the Virgin-Queen  
Full little dreamt, what Champion Love had brought  
To rescue her bright honour; had she thought  
It had Anaxus been, she would have shared  
In the Adventure how so e'er she fared.  
But fate was not so pleased, the Youth was sad  
To see all gone: the many Wounds he had  
Grieved him not so, as that he did not know  
Her for whose sake he had adventured so.  
Yet was he glad who e'er she was, that he  
Had come so luckily to set them free  
From such a certain thraldom; night drew on  
And his Wounds smarted: no Chirurgeon  
Was near at hand to bind them up, and pour  
His balmy Medicines into his Sore:  
And surely he had died, but that his heart  
Was yet too stout to yield for want of Art.  
Looking about upon a small ascent  
He spied an old Thatcht-House, all to be rend  
And eaten out by time, and the foul weather,  
Or rather seemed a piece of ruin; thither  
Anaxus faintly hies, and in the way  
He meets with old Sylvanus, who they say  
Had skill in Augury, and could foretell  
Th' event of things: he came then from his Cell  
To gather a few Herbs and Roots; the Cates  
He fed upon: Anaxus him entreats  
To bind his Wounds up, and with care t'apply  
Unto his Sores some wholesome remedy.  
A trim old man he was, though▪ Age had ploughed  
Up many Wrinkles in his Brow, and bowed  
His Body somewhat towered the Earth; his Hairs  
Like the Snows woolly flakes made white with cares,  
The Thorns that now and then plucked off the Down,  
And wore away for Baldness to a Crown:  
His broad combed Beard hung down near to his Waste,  
The only comely ornament that graced  
His reverend old age, his feet were bare,  
But for his leathern Sandals, which he beware  
To keep them clean from galling, which compelled  
Him use a staff to help him to the Field.  
He durst nor trust his legs, they failed him then,  
And he was almost grown a child again:  
Yet sound in judgement, not. impaired in mind,  
For Age had rather the Souls parts refined,  
Than any way infirmed; his Wit no less  
Than 'twas in Youth, his Memory as fresh;  
He failed in nothing but his earthly part,  
That tended to its centre; yet his heart  
Was still the same, and beat as lustily:  
For, as it first took life, it would last die.  
Upon the Youth with greedy eye he gazed,  
And on his Staff himself a little raised;  
When with a tear or two with pity pressed,  
From his dry Springs, he welcomes his request.  
He needs not much entreaty to do good,  
But having washed his Wounds and staunched the Blood,  
He pours in oily Balsam; fits his clothes,  
And with soft Tents he stops their gaping mouths;  
Then binds them up, and with a cheerful look  
Welcomes his thankful Patient, whom he took  
Home with him to his Cell; whose poor outside  
Promised as mean a Lodging; Pomp and Pride  
(Those Peacocks of the time) ne'er roosted there,  
Content and lowliness the inmates were.  
It was not so contemptible within,  
There was some show of beauty that had been  
Made much of in old time; but now well-nigh  
Worn out with envious time; a curious eye  
Might see some relics of a piece of Art,  
That Psyche made, when Love first fired her heart.  
It was the story of her thoughts, which she  
Curiously wrought in lively imagery.  
Among the rest, the thought of Jealousy  
Time left untouched, to grace Antiquity.  
It was decifered by a timorous Dame,  
Wrapped in a yellow Mantle lined with flame:  
Her looks were pale, contracted with a frown,  
Her eyes suspicious, wandering up and down;  
Behind her, fear attended big with child,  
Able to fright presumption, if she smiled.  
After her flew a sigh, between two springs  
Of briny water; on her Dovelike wings  
She bore a Letter sealed with a Half-Moon,  
And superscribed, This from suspicion.  
More than this, churlish time had left no thing  
To show the piece was Psyche's broidering.  
Hither Sylvanus brings him, and with Cates,  
Such as our wants may buy at easy rates  
He feasts his Guest; hunger and sweet content  
Sucks from course Far, a courtly nourishment.  
When they had supped, they talk an hour or two,  
And each the other questions how things go.  
Sylvanus asked him how he came so hurt,  
Anaxus tells him; and, this sad report  
Spins out a long discourse: the Youth enquired  
What Maids they were he rescued, why so tired:  
What Saint it was they worshipped, whence the Thiefs,  
And who that Virgin was, that he conceives  
Was Queen and Sovereign Lady of the rest.  
Sylvanus willing to content his Guest,  
After a little pause, in a grave tone,  
Thus courteously replied; quoth he, My Son,  
To tell a sad relation will, I fear,  
Prove but unseasonable; a young ear  
Will relish it but harshly; yet since you  
Desire so much to hear it, I shall do  
My best to answer your desires in all  
That Truth hath warranted authentical.  
You are not such a stranger to the State,  
But you have heard of Hylas, who of late  
Backed by some Fugitives, with a strong hand,  
Wrested the Crown and Sceptre of this Land  
From the true Owner; this same Hylas when  
He had what his Ambition aimed at; then  
When he grew wearied with conquering  
His native Countrymen, and as a King  
Sat himself down to taste what fate had dressed  
And served up to him at a plenteous Feast.  
When the loud clangors of these civil broils  
Were laid aside, and each man viewed the spoils  
He had unjustly gotten, and in peace  
Securely dwelled with idleness and ease;  
Those Moths that fret, and eat into a State  
Until they render it the scorn of fate.  
Hylas' puffed up with pride, and self-conceit  
Of his own Valour that had made him great,  
In Riot and Lasciviousness he spends  
His precious hours, and through the Kingdom sends  
His pand'ring Parasites to seek out gain,  
To quench th' unmastered fury of his flame.  
His Agents were so cunning, many a Maid  
Were to their honour's loss subtly betrayed  
With gifts, and golden promises of that  
Which womanish ambition levelled at,  
Greatness and Honour; but they mistt their aim,  
Their hopeful harvest proved a crop of shame.  
Amongst the many Beauties that his Spies  
Marked out, to offer up a sacrifice  
Unto his lust, the beauteous Florimell  
Was one, whose virtue had no parallel:  
She is old Memnon's Daughter, who of late  
Was banished from his Country, and by fate  
Driven upon our Coast, and as I guess  
He was of Lemnos famed for healthfulness,  
Under this borrowed name; for so it was  
(Or else my Art doth fail me) he did pass  
Unknown to eny, in a Shepherd's Weed  
He shrowds his Honour, now content to feed  
A flock of Sheep, that had fed men before.  
" It is no wonder to see goodness poor.  
It was his Daughter that the lustful King  
Beastlike neighed after; still his flatterers sing  
Oads of her praise to heighten his desires,  
To swim to Pleasure through a Hell of Fires.  
The tempting baits were laid, the Nets were spread,  
And gilded o'er to catch a Maidenhead;  
But all in vain, Eugenia would not by't,  
Nor sell her honour for a base delight.  
He speaks in Letters a dumb eloquence  
That takes the heart before it reach the sense.  
But they were slighted, Letters that speak sin  
Virtue sends back in scorn: he writes again,  
And is again repulsed, he comes himself  
And desperately casts Anchor on the shelf  
Of his own power and greatness, toll her on  
To come aboard to her destruction:  
But she was deaf unto his Siren Charms,  
Made wisely wary by another's harms.  
Her strong repulses were like Oil to fires,  
Strengthening th' increasing heat of his desires.  
With mild entreats he woes her, and doth swear  
How that his Love's intendments noble were;  
And if she'd love him, he protests and vows  
To make her Queen of all the State he owes.  
But she was fixed, and her resolves so strong,  
She vowed to meet with death, rather than wrong  
Him unto whom her Maiden Faith was plight;  
And he's no mean one, if my aim hits right.  
When Hylas saw ●o cunning would prevail  
To make her his, his angry looks waxed pale,  
His heart called home the blood to feed revenge,  
That there fate plotting to work out his ends.  
At length it hatched this mischief; Memnon's bid  
To chide his Daughter's coyness; so he did,  
And she became the bolder, chid his checks,  
And answered his injunctions with neglects.  
Whereat the King enraged, laid hands upon her,  
And was a dragging her to her dishonour.  
When Memnon's Servants at their Mistress cry  
Rushed in and rescued her, 'twas time to fly,  
Hylas had else met with a just reward  
For his foul lust: he had a slender guard,  
And durst not stand the hazard: Memnon's men  
Would have pursued, but they came off again  
At Memnon's call: the woeful Florimell,  
(For so her name was) on the pavement fell,  
Waiting the stroke of Death, life was about  
To leave her had not Memnon found her out.  
Anaxus all this while gave heedful ear  
To what he spoke, and lent him many a tear  
To point out the full stops of his discourse;  
But that he calls her Florimell, the force  
Of his strong passions had persuaded him  
It had been his Clarinda, (as in time  
The story makes her;) spare thy tears my Son  
Said old Sylvanus; so his tale went on.  
These are but sad beginnings of events  
Spun out to sorrows height; the foul intents  
Of Hylas being frustrate, and his fires  
Wanting no fuel to increase desires;  
He lays a snare to catch his Maiden prize  
By murdering her old Father; and h●s spies  
Were sent to find his haunt out: Memnon, he  
Of old experienced in Court policy,  
Wisely forecasts th'event, and studies how  
He might prevent his mischiefs ere they grow  
Too ripe, and near at hand to be put by  
By all the art and strength he had; to die  
For him that now was old▪ he nothing cared,  
Death at no time finds goodness unprepared.  
But how he might secure his Florimell,  
That thought most troubled him; he knew full well  
She was the white was aimed at; were she sure,  
He made but slight of what he might endure.  
He was but yet a stranger to those friends  
That his true worth had gained him, yet he intends  
To try some one of them; anon his fears  
And jealous doubts call back those former cares.  
He thinks on many ways for her defence;  
But except Heaven finds, none save innocence.  
Memnon at last resolves next day to send her  
To Vesta's Cloister, and there to commend her  
Unto the Virgin Goddesses protection,  
And to that purpose gave her such direction,  
As fitted her to be a Vestal Nun,  
And time seemed tedious till the deed was done.  
The fatal night before that wished for day,  
When Florimell was to be packed away,  
Hylas besets the House with armed men,  
Loath that his Lust should be deceived again.  
At midnight they broke in, Memnon arose,  
And e'er he called his Servants, in he goes  
Into his Daughter's Chamber, and besmears  
Her Breast and Hands with Blood; the rest her fears  
Counsel her to; each hand took up a knife  
T'oppose her foe, or let out her own life,  
If need should be, to save her honoured name  
From Lust's black sullies, and ne'er dying shame.  
Memnon then calls his Servants, they arise,  
And wanting light, they make their hands their eyes.  
Like Seamen in a Storm about they go,  
At their wit's end, not knowing what to do.  
Down a Back Stairs they hurried to the Hall,  
Where the most noise was; in they venture all,  
And all were suddenly surprised, in vain  
Poor men they struggle to get lose again.  
A very word was punished with a Wound,  
Here they might see their aged Master bound,  
And though too weak to make resistance found,  
Wounded almost to death; his hoary hairs  
Now near half worn away with age and cares,  
Torn from his Head and Beard; he scorned to cry  
Or beg for mercy fro● their cruelty.  
He fared the worse because he would not tell,  
What was become of his fair Florimell.  
She heard not this, though she set open her ears  
To listen to the whispers of her fears.  
Sure had she heard how her good Father fared,  
Her very cries would have the doors unbar'd▪  
To let her out to plead his innocence;  
But he had locked her up in a close Room,  
Free from suspicion, and it had been her Tomb,  
Had not the Fates prevented; search was made  
In every corner, and great care was had,  
Lest she should scape; but yet they missed the Lass:  
They sought her every where but where she was.  
Under the Bed there was a Trap-door made,  
That opened to a Room where Memnon laid  
The Treasure and the Jewels which he brought  
From Lemnos with him: Round about they sought,  
Under and o'er the Bed; in Chests they pry,  
And in each hole where scarce a Cat might lie;  
But could not find the cunning contrived door  
That opened Bed and all: then down they tore  
The painted Hang, and survey the Walls,  
Yet found no by way out: Then Hylas calls  
To know if they had found her; they reply,  
She was not there: Then with a wrathful eye,  
Looking on Memnon; Doting fool (said he)  
Will't not thou tell me where she is: if she  
Be in this house concealed, I have a way  
Shall find her out; if thou hast mind to pray  
Be speedy, thou hast not an hour to live.  
I'll teach thee what it is for to deceive  
Him that would honour thee: Would shame me rather,  
Answered old Memnon, and undo a Father,  
By shaming of his Daughter; Lustful King,  
Call you this honour? death's not such a thing,  
As can fright Memnon; he and I have met  
Up to the knees in Blood, and honoured Sweat,  
Where his Sith mowed down Legions, he and I  
Are well acquainted; 'tis no news to die.  
Dost thou so brave it (Hylas said) I'll try  
What temper you are made on by and by.  
Set fire upon the House, since you love death  
I'll teach you a new way to let out breathe.  
This word struck Memnon mute, not that he feared  
Death in what shape soever he appeared;  
But that his Daughter, whom as yet his care  
Had kept from ravishing, should with him share  
In such a bitter potion; this was that  
Which more than Death afflicted him, that Fate  
Should now exact a double Sacrifice,  
And prove more cruel than his Enemies.  
This struck him to the heart, the House was fired,  
And his sad busy thoughts were well-nigh tired  
With studying what to do: when as a Post  
That had out-rid report, brought news the Coast  
Shined full of fired Beacons, how his Lords  
Instead of Sleep betook themselves to Swords.  
How that the Foe was near, and meant e'er day  
To make his Court and Treasury their prey.  
How that the Soldiers were at their wits end  
For th' absence of their King, and did intent,  
Unless he did prevent them suddenly,  
To choose a new one. Hylas fearfully  
Did entertain this news, calls back his men,  
And through by-paths he steals to Court again,  
Leaving the House on fire; the Thatch was wet,  
And burnt but slowly: Memnon's Servants get  
Their Master lose, and with their Teeth unties  
The bloody Cords that binds the Sacrifice,  
That Fate was pleased to spare; they quench the fire,  
Whilst he runs to his Daughter; both admire  
Their little hoped for wondrous preservation,  
Praising their Gods with servant adoration.  
Next day he shifts his Florimell away  
Unto the Vestal Cloister, there to stay  
Till he heard how things went, and what success  
Befell the Wars; his men themselves address,  
At his command to wait upon the Wars,  
To purchase freedom, or by Death, or Scars.  
Memnon himself keeps home, attended on  
But by a stubbed Boy; his Daughter gone,  
His fears began lessen: Hylas was o'erthrown,  
And bold Alexis Conquest gained a Crown:  
And worthily he wears it; with his Reign  
Desired Peace stepped on the Stage again.  
The Laws were executed, Justice done,  
And civil Order stayed Confusion.  
Sloth and her sister Ease were banished,  
And all must labour now to get their bread:  
Yet Peace is not so settled, but we find  
Some work for Swords; the Foe hath left behind  
Some glean of his greater strength, that still  
Commit great outrages, that rob and kill  
All that they meet with, ravishing chaste Maids  
Both of their Life and Honour; some such Lads  
Were they that set upon that Virgin crew,  
That were redeemed so worthily by you.  
A hundred Virgins monthly do frequent  
Diana's Temple, where with pure intent  
They tender their Devotions: one is chose  
By lot to be their Queen, to whom each owes  
Her best respect, and for this month I guess  
Their Queen was Florimell, now Votaress.  
Sylvanus here broke off; 'twas late, and sleep  
Like Led hung on their eye lids; heaven them keep.  
We'll leave them to their rest a while, and tell  
What to Thealma in this space befell.  
Anaxus had no sooner ta'en his leave  
Of his glad Sister, making. her believe  
That he would shortly visit her, when she  
Led forth her Flock to Field more joyfully  
Than she was wont to do; those rosy stains  
That nature wont to lend her from her veins,  
Began t'appear upon her cheeks, and raise  
Her sickly beauty to contend for praise.  
She tricked herself in all her best attire,  
As if she meant this day t'invite desire  
To fall in love with her: her loser hair  
Hung on her shoulders, sporting with the air:  
Her brow a Coronet of Rosebuds crowned  
With loving Woodbines sweet embraces bound.  
Two Globe-like Pearls were pendent to her ears,  
And on her Breast a costly Gem she wears,  
An Adamant in fashion like a heart,  
Whereon Love sat a plucking out a Dart,  
With this same Motto graven round about  
On a gold Border; Sooner in than out.  
This Gem Clearchus gave her, when unknown,  
At Tilt his Valour won her for his own.  
Instead of Bracelets on her Wrists, she wore  
A pair of golden Shackles, chained before  
Unto a silver Ring enamelled Blue,  
Whereon in golden Letters to the view  
This Motto was presented, Bound yet free,  
And in a true Love's Knot a T. and C,  
Buckled it fast together; her silk Gown  
Of grassy green, in equal pleits hung down  
Unto the Earth: and as she went the Flowers  
Which she had broidered on it at spare hours,  
Were wrought so to the life, they seemed to grow  
In a green Field, and as the Wind did blow,  
Sometimes a Lily, than a Rose takes place,  
And blushing seems to hid it in the Grass:  
And here and there gold Oaes 'mong Pearls she strew,  
That seemed like shining Glowworms in the dew.  
Her sleeves were Tinsel wrought with leaves of green,  
In equal distance spangeled between,  
And shadowed over with a thin Lawn cloud,  
Through which her workmanship more graceful showed.  
A silken Scrip and Shepherd's Crook she had,  
The badge of her profession; and thus clad,  
Thealma leads her milky Drove to Field,  
Proud of so brave a guide: had you beheld  
With what a majesty she trod the ground,  
How sweet she smiled, and angrily she frowned:  
You would have thought, it had Minerva bee●,  
Come from high jove to dwell on earth again.  
The reason why she made herself thus fine  
Was a sweet Dream she had; some poor Divine  
Had whispered to her soul Clearchus lived,  
And that he was a King for whom she grieved:  
She thought she saw old Hymen in Love's bands,  
Tie with devotion both their hearts and hands.  
She was a dreaming farther, when her Maid  
Told her the Sun was up: she well apaid  
With what her greedy thoughts had tasted on,  
Quickly got up; and hurried with her Dream,  
Thus tricks herself, having a mind to seem  
What she would be, but was not; strong conceit  
So wrought upon her; those that are born great  
Have higher thoughts than the low-minded Clown,  
He seldom dreams himself into a Crown.  
Caretta, modest girl, she thought it strange,  
And wondered greatly at so sudden change;  
But durst not be so bold to ask the cause,  
Obedience had prescribed her knowledge Laws:  
And she would not transgress them; yet it made  
Her call to mind what garments once she had,  
And when her Father lived, how brave she went,  
But humble-minded wench she was content.  
She knew the vanity of Pomp and Pride,  
Which if not plucked off, must be laid aside  
One day; and to speak truth, she had a mind  
So decked with rich endowments, that it shined  
In all her actions; how so e'er she goes,  
Few Maids have such an inside to their clothes.  
Yet her Dames Love had tricket her up so brave,  
As she thought fit to make her Maid, and gave  
Her such habiliments to set her forth,  
As rather graced than stained her Mistress worth.  
They made her ne'er the prouder, she was still  
As ready and obedient to her will.  
Thus to the Field Thealma and her Maid  
Cheerfully went; and, in a friendly shade  
They sat them down to work; the wench had brought,  
As her Dame bid, her Lute; and as she wrought,  
Thealma played and sang this cheerful Air,  
As if she than would bid adieu to care.   

I.  
Fly hence Despair, and Hearts-benumming fears,  
Presume no more to fright  
Me from my quiet rest:  
My budding hopes have wiped away my tears,  
And filled me with delight,  
To cure my wounded breast.   

II.  
Mount up sad thoughts, that whilom humbly strayed  
Upon the lowly plain,  
And fed on nought but grief.  
My angry fate with me is well apaid,  
And smiles on me again,  
To give my heart relief.   

III.  
Rejoice, poor heart, forget those wounding woes  
That robbed thee of thy peace,  
And drowned thee in despair,  
Still thy strong passions with a sweet repose,  
To give my soul some ease,  
And rid me of my care.  
My thoughts presage by Fortune's frown,  
I shall climb up unto a Crown.   

She had not ended her delicious lay,  
When Cleon and old Rhotus, who that day  
Were journeying to Court, by chance drew near,  
As she was singing, and t' enrich their ear  
They made a stand behind the hedge to hear  
Her sweet soul-melting accents, that so won  
Their best attention, that when she had done,  
The Voice had ravished so the good old men,  
They wished in vain she would begin again;  
And now they long to see what Goddess 'twas,  
That owned so sweet a voice, and with such grace  
Chid her sad Woes away: The cause that drew  
Rhotus to Court was this; after a view  
Made by the victor King of all his Peers  
And well deserving men that force or fears  
Had banished from their own, and Peace begun  
To smile upon Arcadia; to shun  
The future cavils that his Subjects might  
Make to recover their usurped right:  
He made enquiry what each man possessed  
During Lysander's Reign, to reinvest  
Them in their honoured places, and such Lands  
As Tyranny had wrung out of his hands.  
And minding now to gratify his Friends,  
Like a good Prince he for old Rhotus sends;  
As he to whom he owed his Life, and all  
The Honour he had rose to; at his call  
Old Rhotus quickly comes, leaving his trade  
To an old Servant whom long custom had  
Wedded to that vocation; so that he  
Aimed at no higher honour than to be  
A Master-fisher: Cleon, who of late  
As you have heard, came from the Lemnian State  
In search of one whose name he yet kept close,  
With Rhotus his kind Host to Court he goes,  
And with him his Son Dorus: in the way,  
As you have heard, Thealma made them stay,  
And not contented to content their ear  
With her sweet Music, towered her they drew near;  
And wondering at her bravery and her beauty,  
They thought to greet her with a common duty,  
Would ill become them: humbly on their knee  
They tendered their respect, and Princelike, she  
Thanked them with nods: her high thoughts still aspire,  
And their low lootings lift them a step higher.  
Old Cleon eyed her with such curious heed,  
He thought she might be what she proved indeed,  
Thealma: her rich Gems confirmed the same,  
For some he knew, yet durst not ask her name.  
Caretta viewing Rhotus (loving wench)  
As if instinct had taught her confidence,  
Runs from her Mistress, contradicts all fears,  
And asks him Blessing, speaking in her tears.  
Lives then Caretta? said he, Yes, quoth she,  
I am Caretta, if you'll Father me.  
Then Heaven hath heard my Prayers, or thine rather,  
It is thy goodness makes me still a Father,  
A thousand times he kissed the Girl, whilst she  
Receives them as his Blessings on her knee.  
At length he took her up, and to her Dame  
With thanks returned her: saying, If a blame  
Be due unto your Handmaids fond neglect  
To do you service, let your Frown reflect  
On her poor Father. She, as Children use,  
Is over joyed to find the thing they lose.  
There needs no such apology, kind Sir,  
Answered Thealma, duty bindeth her▪  
More strictly to th'obedience of a Father,  
Than of a Mistress; I commend her rather  
For tendering what she owed so willingly;  
Believe't I love her for it, she and I  
Have drank sufficiently of sorrows cup,  
And were content sometimes to Dine and Sup  
With the sad story of our woes; poor cates  
To feed on; yet we bought them at dear rates:  
Many a tear they cost us: you are blest  
In finding of a Daughter, and the best  
(Though you may think I flatter) that e'er lived  
To glad a Father; as with her I grieved  
For his supposed loss, so being found  
I cannot but rejoice with her; the wound  
Which you have cured in her, gives ease to mine,  
And I find comfort in her Medicine.  
I had a Father, but I lost him too,  
And wilfully; my Girl, so didst not thou;  
Nor can I hope to find him, but in wrath  
I lost his love in keeping of my Faith.  
She would have spoken more, but sighs and tears  
Broke from their prison to revive her fears.  
Cleon, although he knew her by her speech,  
And by some Jewels which she wore, too rich  
For any Shepherdess to wear, forbore  
To interrupt her; he so loved to hear  
Her speak, whom he so oft had heard was drowned,  
And still, good man▪ he kneeled upon the ground,  
And wept for joy. Why do you kneel, said she,  
Am I a Saint, what do you see in me  
To merit such respects? pray rise, 'tis I  
That own a reverence to such gravity,  
That kneeling better would become, I know  
No worth in me to worl you down so low.  
Yes, gracious Madam, what I pay is due  
To none, for aught I know, so much as you.  
Is not your name Thealma? hath your eye  
ne'er seen this face at Lemnos, I can spy  
Even through those clouds of grief, the stamp of him  
That once I called my Sovereign; age and time  
Hath brought him to his Grave, that bed of dust,  
Where when our night is come, sleep we all must.  
Yet in despite of Death his honoured name  
Lives, and will ever in the vote of Fame.  
Death works but on corruption, things Divine,  
Cleansed from the dross about them, brighter shine:  
So doth his Virtues. What was earth is gone,  
His heavenly part is left to crown his Son,  
If I could find him. You may well conceive  
At his sad tale what cause she had to grieve;  
Reply she could not, but in sighs and tears,  
Yet to his kill language lent her ears:  
And had not grief enforced him make a pause  
She had been silent still; she had most cause  
To wail her Father's loss: Oh unkind Fate,  
Replied Thealma; it is now too late  
To wish I'd not offended; cruel love  
To force me to offend, and not to prove  
So kind to let him live to punish her,  
Whose fault, I fear me, was his murderer.  
O my Clearchus, 'twas through thee I fell  
From a Child's duty; yet I do not well  
To blame thee for it, sweetly may'st thou sleep,  
Thou and thy faults lie buried in the deep,  
And I'll not rake them up: ye partial powers,  
To number out to me so many hours,  
And punish him so soon; why do I live?  
Can there be hope that Spirits can forgive?  
Yes gracious Madam, his departing Soul  
Sealed up your Pardon with a Prayer t'enroul  
Amongst his honoured Acts, left you his Blessing,  
And called it love, which you do stile transgressing,  
Left you a Dowry worthy a loved Child,  
With whom he willingly was reconciled.  
Take comfort then; Kings are but men, and they  
As well as poor men must return to Clay.  
With that she oped the floodgates of her eyes,  
And offered up a wealthy sacrifice  
Of thankful tears, to expiate her crimes,  
And drown their memory, lest after times  
Might blab them to the world. Rhotus gave ear  
To all that past, and lent her many a tear:  
The Alms that sweet compassion bestows  
On a poor heart that wants to cure its woes.  
Caretta melted too, though she had found  
What her poor Mistress grieved at, all drank round  
Of the same briny cup. Rhotus at last  
Began thus to comfort her: Madam, though hast  
To obey my Sovereigns command would fit  
The Duty of a Subject better; yet  
I will incur the hazard of his frown  
To do you service; Glory and Renown  
The mark the noble Spirits still aim at  
To crown their Virtues, did so animate.  
Alexis our new Sovereign, once my guest  
(And glad he was to be so) that his Breast  
Full of high thoughts, could relish no content  
In a poor Cottage. One day as he went  
With me unto our Annual Games, where he  
Puts in for one to try the mastery,  
And from them all came off a Victor, so  
That all admired him; on him they bestow  
The Wreath of Conquest; at that time this State  
Was governed by a Tyrant, one that Fate  
Thrust in to scourge the people's wickedness,  
That had abused the blessing of their peace,  
As he abused his honour, which he gained  
By cruel usurpation; for he reigned  
More like a Beast than Man; Fortune at length  
Grew weary of him too; weakening his strength  
By wantoning his people, without Law  
Or Exercise to keep their minds in awe.  
Which the exiled Nobility perceiving,  
Took heart again, some new strong hope conceiving  
Through th' enemy's neglect, to regain that  
Which formerly they lost; so it pleased Fate  
To change the scene: most of the noble Youth  
The former War consumed, and to speak truth,  
Unless some few old men, there was left none  
Worthy to be a Leader; all was gone:  
Wherefore when they had seen what he could do,  
And by that guessed, what he durst undergo  
(If they were put to't) they Alexis chose  
To lead their Warlike Troops against their Foes.  
His Valour spoke him noble, and's behaviour  
Was such as won upon the People's Favour;  
His speech so powerful, that the hearer thought  
All his Entreats Commands: so much it wrought  
Upon their awful minds; this new come Stranger  
They chose to be their Shield 'twixt them and danger;  
And he deceived not th' expectation  
They fixed upon him: Hylas was o'erthrown,  
And he returned in triumph: Joy was now  
Arcadia's Theme; and all Oblations vow  
To their Protector Mars: to quite him then,  
They choose him King, the wonderment of men.  
'Twas much, yet what they gave was not their own,  
They owed him for it; what they gave he won,  
And won it bravely. When this Youth I found  
Hanging upon the craggy Rock half drowned,  
I little dreamt that he should mount so high  
As to a Crown; yet such a Majesty  
Shined on his look sometimes, as showed a mind  
Too great to be, to a low state confined:  
Tho while he lived with me, such sullen clouds  
Of grief hung on his brow, and such sad floods  
Rather than briny tears, streamed from his eyes,  
As made him seem a man of miseries.  
And often as he was alone, I heard him  
Sigh out Thealma; I as often cheered him.  
May not this be the man you grieve for so,  
Your name's Thealma, and for aught I know,  
He may not be Alexis; perhaps fear  
Borrowed that nickname, to conceal him here.  
Take comfort, Madam, on my life 'tis he,  
If my conjecture fail me not, then be  
Not so dejected till the truth be tried:  
And that shall be my charge, Cleon replied;  
Thanks noble Rhotus, this discovery  
Binds me to thee for ever: thou and I  
Will to the Court; could I Anaxus find  
My work were ended; if Fate prove so kind,  
I hope a comical event shall crown  
These tragical beginnings; do not drown  
Your hopes (sweet Madam) that I so would fain  
Live to your comfort, when we meet again,  
Which will be speedily; the news we bring  
I trust shall be Clearchus is a King.  
Most noble Cleon, thanks; may it prove so  
Answered Thealma; yet before you go,  
Take this same Jewel, this Clearchus gave me  
When first I did consent that he should have me:  
And if he still do love, as is a doubt,  
For he ne'er hath a power to work Love out.  
By this you shall discover who he is,  
If Fortune have assigned me such a bliss  
As once more to be his, she makes amends  
For all my sorrow; but if she intends  
Still to afflict me, I can suffer still,  
And tyre her cruelty, though't be to kill:  
I have a patience that she cannot wrong  
With all her flatteries; a heart too strong  
To shake at such a weak artillery,  
As is her frowns: no Cleon, I dare die,  
And could I meet Death nobly I would so,  
Rather than be her scorn, and take up woe  
At interest to enrich her power, that grows  
Greater by grieving at our overthrows.  
No Cleon, I can be as well content  
With my poor Cot, this woolly regiment,  
As with a Palace; or to govern men;  
And I can Queen it when time serves again.  
Go, and my hopes go with you; if stern Fate  
Bid you return with news to mend my state,  
I'll welcome it with thanks; if not, I know  
The worst on't, Cleon, I am now as low  
As she can throw me. Thus resolved, they leave her,  
And to the Court the two Lords wend together,  
Leaving young Dorus, Cleon's Son behind  
To wait upon Thealma; Love was kind  
In that to fair Caretta, that till now  
ne'er felt what passion meant, yet knew not how  
To vent it but with blushes; modest shame  
Forbade it yet to grow into a flame.  
Love works by time, and time will make her bolder,  
Talk warms desire, when absence makes it colder.  
Home now Thealma wends 'twixt hope and fear,  
Sometimes she smiles, anon she drops a tear  
That stole along her cheeks, and falling down  
Into a pearl, it freezeth with her frown.  
The Sun was set before she reached the Fold,  
And sparkling Vesper night's approach has told.  
She left the Lovers to enfold her Sheep,  
And in she went, resolved to sup with sleep:  
If thought would give her leave, unto her rest  
We leave her for a while, Sylvanus guest  
You know we lately left under his cure,  
And now it is high time my Muse to lewre  
From her too tedious weary flight, and tell  
What to Anaxus that brave Youth befell.  
Let's pause a while, she'll make the better flight,  
The following lines shall feed your appetite.  
Bright Cynthia twice her silver horns had changed,  
And through the Zodiacs twelve signs had ranged,  
Before Anaxus wounds were throughly well,  
In the mean while Sylvanus began to tell  
Him of his future fortune; for he knew  
From what sad cause his minds distempers grew.  
He had ylearnt as you have heard while e'er,  
The art of wise Soothsaying, and could clear  
The doubts that puzzle the strong working brain,  
And make the intricat'st anigmas plain:  
His younger years in Egypt Schools he spent,  
From whence he sucked this knowledge; not content  
With what the common Sciences could teach,  
Those were too shallow springs for his deep reach,  
That aimed at Learning's utmost: that hid skill  
That out-doth nature, hence he sucked his fill  
Of Divine knowledge: 'twas not all inspired,  
It cost some pains that made him so admired.  
He told him what he was, what Country Air  
He first drew in, what his intendments were;  
How 'twas for love, he left his native Soil  
To tread upon Arcadia, and with toil  
Sought what he must not have, a lovely Dame  
But art went not so far to tell her name.  
Heaven that doth control Art, would not reveal it,  
Or if it did he wisely did conceal it.  
He told him of his Father's death, and that  
The State had lately sent for him, whereat  
Anaxus starting; Stay old man (quoth he)  
I'll hear no more; thy cruel Augury  
Wounds me at heart, can thy Art cure that wound?  
Sylvanus? No, no Medicine is found  
In humane skill to cure that tender part,  
When the Soul's pained, it finds no help of Art:  
Yet Sir (said he) Art may have power to ease,  
Though not to cure the sick Souls maladies.  
And though my sadder news distaste your ear,  
'Tis such as I must tell, and you must hear.  
I know ye are sent for, strict enquiry's made  
Through all Arcadia for you; plots are laid  
(By some that wish not well unto the State)  
How to deprive you of a Crown; but Fate  
Is pleased not so to have it, and by me  
Chalks out a way for you to Sovereignty.  
I say again, she whom you love, though true  
And spotless constant, must not marry you.  
One you call Sister, to divide the strife,  
Fate hath decreed, must be your Queen and Wife.  
High to th' Arcadian Court, what there you hear  
Perhaps may trouble you; but do not fear,  
All shall be well at length, the blessed event  
Shall crown your wishes with a sweet content.  
Inquire no farther, I must tell no more,  
Here Fate sets limits to my Art: before  
You have gone half a League, under a Beech  
You'll find your man enquiring of a Witch  
What is become of you? the Beldame's fly,  
And will allure by her strange subtlety  
The strongest Faith to error; have a care  
She tempt you not to fall in love with Air.  
She'll show you Wonders; you shall see and hear  
That which shall rarely please both eye and ear.  
But be not won to wantonness, but eat  
All her enticements: credit not, my Son,  
That what you see is real; Son be wise,  
And set a watch before thy ears and eyes.  
She loves thee not, and will work all she can  
To give thy Crown unto another man.  
But fear not, there's a power above her skill  
Will have it otherwise, do what she will.  
But Fate thinks fit to try thy constancy,  
Then arm thyself against her Sorcery.  
Take this same Herb, and if thy strength begin  
To fail at any time, and lean to sin,  
Smell to't, and wipe thine eyes therewith, that shall  
Quicken thy duller sight to dislike all,  
And reinforce thy reason to oppose  
All her temptations, and fantastic shows.  
Farewell Anaxus, high to Court, my Son,  
Or I'll be there before thee! 'Twas high noon,  
When after many thanks to his kind Host,  
Anaxus took his leave, and quickly lost  
The way he was directed; on he went  
As his Fate led him, full of hardement.  
Down in a gloomy valley thick with shade,  
Which too aspiring hanging Rocks had made,  
That shut out day and barred the glorious Sun  
From prying into th' actions there done;  
Set full of Box, and Cypress, Poplar, Yew,  
And hateful Elder that in Thickets grew,  
Amongst whose Boughs the Scritch-owl and Night-crow,  
Sadly recount their Prophecies of woe,  
Where leather-winged Batts, that hate the light  
Fan the thick Air, more sooty than the night.  
The ground o'ergrown with Weeds, and bushy Shrubs,  
Where milky Hedgehogs nurse their prickly Cubs:  
And here and there a Mandrake grows, that strikes  
The hearers dead with their loud fatal shrieks;  
Under whose spreading leaves the ugly Toad,  
The Adder, and the Snake make their abode.  
Here dwelled Orandra, so the Witch was height,  
And thither had she toaled him by a slight:  
She knew Anaxus was to go to Court,  
And envying Virtue, she made it her sport,  
To hinder him, sending her airy Spies  
Forth with Delusions to entrap his Eyes,  
And captivate his Ear with various Tones,  
Sometimes of Joy, and otherwhiles of Moans:  
Sometimes he hears delicious sweet lays  
Wrought with such curious descant as would raise  
Attention in a Stone: anon a groan  
Reacheth his Ear, as if it came from one  
That craved his help; and by and by he spies  
A beauteous Virgin with such catching Eyes,  
As would have fired a Hermit's i'll desires  
Into a flame; his greedy eye admires  
The more than human beauty of her Face,  
And much ado he had to shun the grace  
Conceit had shaped her out: so like his Love,  
That he was once about in vain to prove,  
Whether 'twas his Clarinda, yea, or no,  
But he bethought him of his Herb, and so  
The Shadow vanished, many a weary step  
It led the Prince that pace with it still kept,  
Until it brought him by a hellish power  
Unto the entrance of Orandras' Bower,  
Where underneath an Elder Tree he spied  
His man Pandevius pale and hollow-eyed;  
Enquiring of the cunning Witch what fate  
Betided his Master; they were newly fate  
When his approach disturbed them; up she risen,  
And towered Anaxus (envious Hag) she goes;  
Pandevius she had charmed into a maze,  
And struck him mute, all he could do was gaze.  
He called him by his name, but all in vain,  
Echo returns Pandevius back again;  
Which made him wonder, when a sudden fear  
Shook all his joints: she cunning Hag drew near,  
And smelling to his Herb, he recollects  
His wand'ring Spirits, and with anger checks  
His coward Fears; resolved now to outdare  
The worst of Dangers, whatsoever they were,  
He eyed her o'er and o'er, and still his eye  
Found some addition to deformity.  
An old decrepit Hag, she was grown white  
With frosty Age, and withered with Despite  
And self-consuming Hate; in Furs clad,  
And on her Head a thrummy Cap she had.  
Her knotty Locks like to Alecto's Snakes  
Hang down about her shoulders, which she shakes  
Into disorder; on her furrowed Brow  
One might perceive time had been long at plough.  
Her Eyes like Candle-snuffs by age sunk quite  
Into their Sockets, yet like Cats-eyes, bright:  
And in the darkest night like fire they shined,  
The ever-open windows of her mind.  
Her swarthy cheeks Time, that all things consumes,  
Had hollowed flat unto her Toothless Gums.  
Her hairy Brows did meet above her Nose,  
That like an eagle's Beak so crooked grows,  
It well nigh kissed her Chin; thick bristled Hair  
Grew on her upper Lip, and here and there  
A rugged Wart with grisly Hairs behung,  
Her Breasts shrunk up, her Nails and Fingers long,  
Her left lent on a staff, in her right hand  
She always carried her enchanting Wand.  
Splay-footed, beyond Nature, every part  
So patternless deformed, 'twould puzzle Art  
To make her counterfeit; only her Tongue  
Nature had that most tightly strung.  
Her oily Language came so smoothly from her,  
And her acquaint action did so well become her,  
Her winning Rhetoric met with no trips,  
But chained the dull'st attention to her lips.  
With greediness he heard, and though he strove  
To shake her off, the more her words did move▪  
She wooed him to her Cell, called him her Son,  
And with fair promises she quickly won  
Him to her beck; or rather he to try  
What she could do, did willingly comply  
With her request; into her Cell he goes,  
And with his Herb he rubs his Eyes and Nose.  
His man stood like an image still, and stared  
As if some fearful prodigy had scared  
Life from its earthy mansion; but she soon  
Unloosed the Charms, and after them he run.  
Her Cell was hewn out in the Marble Rock,  
By more than human Art; she need not knock,  
The door stood always open, large and wide,  
Grown o'er with woolly Moss on either side,  
And interwove with Ivies flattering twines,  
Thro which the Carbuncle and Di'mond shines;  
Not set by Art, but there by Nature sown  
At the World's Birth, so Starlike bright they shone.  
They served instead of Tapers to give light  
To the dark entry, where perpetual Night,  
Friend to black Deeds, and Sire of Ignorance  
Shuts out all knowledge; left her Eye by chance  
Might bring to light her Follies: in they went,  
The ground was strowed with Flowers, whose sweet scent  
Mixed with the choice Perfumes from India brought,  
Intoxicate his brain, and quickly caught  
His credulous sense; the Walls were gilded and set  
With Precious Stones, and all the Roof was fret  
With a gold Vine, whose straggling branches spread  
All o'er the Arch; the swelling Grapes were red;  
This Art had made of Rubies clustered so,  
To the quickest eye they more than seemed to grow.  
About the Walls lascivious Pictures hung,  
Such as whereof lose Ovid sometimes sung.  
On either side a crew of dwarfish Elves,  
Held waxed Tapers taller than themselves:  
Yet so well shaped unto their little stature,  
So Angellike in face, so sweet in feature.  
Their rich attire so differing; yet so well  
Becoming her that wore it, none could tell  
Which was the fairest, which the handsomest decked.  
Or which of them Desire would soonest affect.  
After a low salute they all began sing,  
And circle in the Stranger in a Ring.  
Orandra to her Charms was stepped aside,  
Leaving her guest half won, and wanton eyed.  
He had forgot his Herb: cunning delight  
Had so be witched his ears, and bleared his sight,  
And captivated all his senses so,  
That he was not himself; nor did he know  
What place he was in, or how he came there,  
But greedily he feeds his Eye and Ear  
With what would ruin him; but that kind Fate  
That contradicts all power subordinate,  
Prevented Arts intents; a silly fly  
(As there were many) light into his eye,  
And forced a tear to drown herself, when he  
Impatient that he could not so well see,  
Lifts up his hand wherein the Herb he held,  
To wipe away the moisture that distilled  
From his still smarting eye; he smelled the scent  
Of the strong Herb, and so incontinent  
Recovered his strayed Wit: his Eyes were cleared,  
And now he liked not what he saw or heard.  
This knew Orandra well; and plots anew  
How to entrap him: next unto his view  
She represents a Banquet ushered in  
By such a shape, as she was sure would win  
His appetite to ●aste; so like she was,  
To his Clarinda both in shape and face.  
So voiced, so habited, of the same gate  
And comely gesture; on her Brow in state  
Sat such a Princely Majesty, as he  
Had noted in Clarinda; save that she  
Had a more wanton eye, that here and there  
Rolled up and down, not settling any where.  
Down on the ground she falls his hand to kiss,  
And with her tears bedews it; cold as Ice  
He felt her Lips, that yet, inflamed him so,  
That he was all on fire the truth to know,  
Whether she was the same she did appear,  
Or whether some fantastic form it were,  
Fashioned in his imagination  
By his still working thoughts; so fixed upon  
His loved Clarinda, that his fancy strove  
Even with her shadow to express his love.  
He took her up, and was about to 'quite  
Her Tears with Kisses, when to clear his sight  
He wipes his Eyes, and with his Herb of Grace  
Smooths his rough Lip to kiss with greater grace:  
So the Herbs virtue stole into his Brain,  
And kept him off; hardly did he refrain  
From sucking in Destruction from her Lip.  
(Sins Cup will poison at the smallest sip,)  
She weeps, and woos again with subtleness,  
And with a Frown she chides his backwardness.  
Have you so soon (sweet Prince said she) forgot  
Your own belov'd Clarinda? are you not  
The same you were, that you so slightly set  
By her that once you made the Cabinet  
Of your choice Counsel? hath my constant heart  
(As Innocene unspotted) no desert,  
To keep me yours? or hath some worthier Love  
Stole your Affections? what is it should move  
You to dislike so soon? must I still taste  
No other Dish but Sorrow? when we last  
Emptied our Souls into each others Breast  
It was not so, Anaxus, or at least  
I thought you meant what then you promised me.  
With that she wept afresh; Are you then she,  
Answered Anaxus, doth Clarinda live?  
Just thus she spoke, how fain I would believe!  
With that she seemed to fall into a swound,  
And stooping down to raise her from the ground,  
That he might use both hands to make more haste,  
He putteth his Herb into his Mouth, whose taste  
Soon changed his mind: He lifts her, but in vain  
His hands fell of, and she fell down again.  
With that she lent him such a frown as would  
Have killed a common Lover, and made cold  
Even lust itself: Orandra fumes and frets,  
And stamping bites the lip to see her Nets  
So long a catching Souls: once more she looks  
Into the secrets of her hellish Books.  
She bears her Breast, and gives her Spirit suck,  
And drinks a Cup in hope of better luck.  
Anaxus still the Airy Shadow eyed,  
Which he thought dead, conceit the truth belied.  
This cunning failing, out she drew a knife,  
And as if she had meant to let out life,  
In passion aimed it at her Breast, and said  
Farewell Anaxus; but her hand he stayed,  
And from her wrung her knife: Art thou, said he,  
Clarinda then? and kissed her: can it be,  
That Fate so loves Anaxus? still with Tears  
She answered him, and more divine appears.  
His Herb was now forgot, lust had stolen in  
With a lose kiss, and tempted him to sin.  
A Bed was near, and she seemed sick and faint:  
(Women to Cupid's sport, need no constraint.)  
Down on the Bed she threw herself, and turned  
Her blushing Beauty from him; still he burned,  
And with entreaties her seeming coyness wooed  
To meet with his Embraces, and bestowed  
Volleys of Kisses on her icy Cheek,  
That wrangled with their fire: she would not speak,  
But sighed and sobbed, that bellows of desire  
Into a flame had quickly blown his fire.  
Now did Orandra laugh within her sleeve,  
Thinking all was cocksure, one might perceive  
Even in that withered Hag, an amorous look,  
'Twas for herself she trained him to her hook.  
Softly she steals unto the Bed, and peeps  
Betwixt the Curtains, nearer than she creeps,  
And to her Spirit whispers her command:  
With that the Spirit seemed to kiss his hand,  
Which stewed him into sweat; a cloth she wants  
To wipe his face, and his inflamed heart pants  
Beyond its usual temper for some air,  
To cool the passions that lay boiling there.  
Out of his Bosom where his Nosegay was,  
He draws a Napkin, so it came to pass  
In plucking of it out, the Nosegay fell  
Upon her face; when with a countenance fell,  
She started from him, cursed him, and with threats  
Leaped from the Bed, Orandra stamps and frets,  
And bitten her lip; she knew the cause full well  
Why her Charms failed her, but yet could not tell  
With all her art, how she might get from him  
That Sovereign Herb: for touch it she durst not,  
And at this time Anaxus had forgot  
The virtue of it, as in a maze he lay  
At her soon starting from him; Cast away,  
Said she, that stinking Nosegay: with that he  
Bethinks of it; but it was well that she  
Put him in mind on't; it had else been lost,  
He little knew how much that Nosegay cost.  
He seeks for't, finds it, smells to't, and by it  
Turns out his lust, and reassumes his wit.  
No Hag, said he, if this do vex thee so,  
I'll make thee glad to smell to't ere I go.  
With that he leaps unto her cursing ripe,  
And with his Herb the Witches face did wipe.  
Whereat she fell to th' earth, the lights went out,  
And darkness hung the Chamber ro●●d about.  
A hellish yelling noise was each whe●e heard,  
Sounds that would make even Valour's self afeard  
A stifling scent of Brimstone he might smell,  
Such as the damned Souls suck in in Hell.  
He kept his powerful Herb still at his Nose,  
And towered the entry of the Room he goes.  
For though 'twas more than midnight dark, yet he  
Found the way out again. Orrandra she  
Threw curses after him, and he might hear  
Her often say, I'll fit you for this gear.  
At the Caves' mouth he found his careless man,  
Wrapped in the Witches charms; do what he can  
He could not wake him, such sweet lullabies  
Pleasure sang to him, till he rubbed his eyes  
With his rare Herb; then starting up he leaps  
For joy to see his Master, that accepts  
His love with thanks; from thence they make no haste,  
Yet where they were they knew not; at the last  
They came into a Plain, where a small Brook  
Did Snake-like creep with many a winding nook,  
And by it here and there a Shepherd's Cot  
Was lowly built, to one of them they got  
T'enquire the way to Court: now night drew on,  
It was a good old man they lighted on,  
Height Eubolus, of no mean Parentage,  
But courtly educated, wife and sage,  
Able to teach, yet willing to enrich  
His knowledge with discourses, smooth in speech,  
Yet not of many words; he entertains  
Them with desire, nor spares for any pains  
To amplify a welcome: with their Host  
A while we leave them, now my muse must post  
Unto Alexis Court; lend me I pray  
Yonr gentle aid to guide her on the way.  
Alexis after many civil broils  
Against his Rebel Subjects, rich in spoils,  
Being settled in his Throne in restful peace,  
The Laws established (and his people's ease  
Proclaimed) he began to call into his mind  
The forepast times, and soon his thoughts did find  
Matter to work on: First, Thealma now  
Came to remembrance, where, and when, and how  
He won, and lost her; this sad thought did so  
Afflict his mind, that he was soon brought low  
Into so deep a melancholy, that  
He minded nothing else: nor cared he what  
Became of State Affairs, and though a King,  
With pleasure he enjoyed not any thing.  
His Sleep goes from him, Meats and Drinks he loathes,  
And to his sadder Thoughts he suits his clothes.  
Mirth seemed a Disease, good counsel Folly,  
Unless it served to humour Melancholy.  
All his delight, if one may may call't delight,  
Was to find Turtles that both day and night  
Mourned up and down his Chamber, and with groans  
His Heart consented to their hollow moans,  
Then with his Tears the briny Drink they drank,  
He would bedew them: while his love to thank,  
They nestle in his Bosom, where, poor Birds,  
With piteous mournful tones, instead of words  
They seemed to moan their Master: thus did he  
Spend his sad hours; and what the cause might be,  
His Nobles could not guests, nor would he tell;  
For Turtle-like he loved his griefs too well,  
To let them leave his Breast, he kept them in,  
And inwardly they spoke to none but him.  
Thus was it with him more than half a year,  
Till a new business had set open his ear  
To entertain advice: the first that broke  
The matter to him, or that durst to speak  
Unto the King, was bold Anaxocles,  
One that bent all his study for the peace  
And safety of his Country; the right hand  
Of the Arcadian State, to whose command  
Was given the City's Citadel: a place  
Of chiefest trust, and this the business was.  
The Rebels, as you heard, being driven hence,  
Despairing e'er to expiate their offence  
By a too late submission, fled to Sea  
In such poor Barks as they could get, where they  
Rom'd up and down which way the winds did please,  
Without, or Chard, or Compass: the rough Seas  
Enraged with such a load of wickedness,  
Grew big with Billows, great was their distress;  
Yet was their courage greater; desperate men  
Grow valianter by suffering: in their ken  
Was a small Island; thitherward they steer  
Their weather-beaten Barks, each plies his gear;  
Some Row, some Pump, some trim the ragged Sails,  
All were employed, and industry prevails.  
They reach the Land at length, their Food grew scant,  
And now they purvey to supply their want.  
The Island was but small, yet full of Fruits,  
That sprang by Nature, as Potato-Roots,  
Rice, Figs, and Almonds, with a many more,  
Till now unpeopled: on this happy Shore.  
With joy they bring their Barks, of which the best  
They Rig anew, with Tackling from the rest.  
Some six or seven they serviceable made,  
They stand not long to study where to Trade;  
Revenge prompts that unto them; Piracy  
Was the first thing they thought on, and their Eye  
Was chief on the Arcadian Shore, that lay  
But three Leagues off: their Theft is not by day  
So much as night, unless some straggling Ship  
Lights in their trap by chance: closely they keep  
Themselves in Rocky Creeks, till Sun be down  
And all a-bed, then steal they to some Town  
Or scattering Village; which they fire, and take  
What Spoils they find, then to their Ship they make,  
And none knew who did harm them; many a night  
Had they used this freebooting: many a fright  
And great hearts-grieving loss the unarmed poor  
Were night'ly put to; and to cure this sore  
The old man roused the King Alexis, chid  
His needless sorrow: told him that he did  
Not like a man, much less like one whose health  
Strengthens the Sinews of a Commonwealth.  
He lays his People's Grievances before him,  
And told him how with tears they did implore him  
To right their wrongs: at first Alexis frowned,  
And in an angry cloud his looks were drowned.  
A sign of Rain or Thunder; 'twas but Rain,  
Some few drops fell, and the Sun shone again.  
Alexis rising, thanks his prudent care,  
And, as his Father loved him; all prepare  
T●unnest these Pirates: Ships were ready made,  
And some Land-Forces; as well to invade,  
As for Defence: the Pirates now were strong▪  
By Discontents that to their Party throng.  
Not so much friend to the late Tyrant King,  
As thirsting after Novelty, the thing  
That tickles the rude Vulgar: one strong Hold  
The cunning Foe had gained, and grew so bold  
To dare all opposition; night and day  
They spoil the Country, make weak Towns their prey;  
And those that will not join with them they kill,  
Not sparing Sex, nor Age, proud of their ill  
By their rich Booties: Against these the King  
Makes both by Sea and Land; 'twas now Spring▪  
And Flora had embroidered all the Meads  
With sweet variety, forth the King leads  
A chosen Troop of Horse, with some few Foot,  
But those experienced men, that would stand to't  
If any need were; to the Sea he sends  
Anaxocles, and to his care commends  
His Marine Forces, he was bold and wise,  
And had been customed to the Seaman's guise.  
He gave it out that he was bound for Thrace  
To fetch a Princely Lady thence, that was  
To be th' Arcadian Queen, which made the Foe  
The more secure and careless: forth they go  
Assured of Victory, and prosperous Gales,  
As fate would have't, had quickly filled their Sails:  
The Pirates Rendezvous was soon discovered  
By scouting Pinnaces, that closely hovered  
Under the lee of a high Promontory,  
That stretched into the Sea; and now, days glory,  
Night's Sable Curtains had eclipsed, the time  
When Robbers use to perpetrate a Crime.  
The Pirates steal abroad, and by good hap,  
Without suspect they fell into the Trap  
Anaxocles had laid; for wisely, he  
Divides his Fleet in Squadrons, which might be  
Ready on all sides: every Squadron had  
Four Ships well man'd, that where e'er the Foe made.  
He might be met with, one kept near the shore,  
Two kept at Sea, the other Squadron bore  
Up towered the Isle, yet with a weeling course,  
Not so far distant, but the whole Fleets force  
Might quickly be united if need were.  
Between these come the Pirates without fear,  
Making towards th' Arcadian shore, where soon  
Th' Arcadians met them; now the Fight begun,  
And it was hot, the Foe was three to one:  
And some big Ships Anaxocles alone  
Gave the first onset, Cynthia then shone bright,  
And now the Foe perceives with whom they fight.  
And they fought stoutly, scorning that so few  
Should hold them tack so long; then nearer drew  
The two side Squadrons, and were within shot  
Before they spied them: now the Fight grew hot:  
Despair put Valour to the angry Foe,  
And bravely they stand to't, give many a blow.  
Three Ships of theirs were sunk at last, and then  
They seek to fly unto their Isle again;  
When the fourth Squadron met them, and afresh  
Set on them, half o'ercome with weariness;  
Yet yield they would not, but still fought it out;  
By this the other Ships were come about,  
And hemmed them in; where seeing no hope left,  
Whom what the Sword did not ex'cute for Theft,  
Leaped in the Sea and drowned them; that small force  
They'd left within the Isle fared rather worse  
Than better; all were put to th' Sword,  
And their Nest fired; much Booty brought aboard,  
With store of Corn, and much Munition  
For War; thus glad of what was done,  
The Fleet with joy returns, the like success  
Alexis had by Land, at unawares  
Surprising their chief Fort: some lucky Stars  
Lending their helpful influence that night;  
Yet for the time it was a bloody Fight.  
At length the fainting Foe gave back, and fled  
Out of a Postern-gate with fear half dead,  
And thinking in the Port to meet their Fleet,  
They met with Death; an ambush did them greet  
With such a furious shock, that all were slain,  
Only some straggling cowards did remain,  
That hide themselves in Bushes which next day  
The Soldiers found, and made their lives a prey  
Unto their kill anger: home the King  
Returns in triumph, whilst Pan's Priests do sing  
Harmonious Odes in honour of that day,  
And dainty Nymphs with Flowers strewed the way:  
Among the which he spied a beauteous Maid,  
Of a majestic countenance, and arrayed  
After so new a manner, that his eye  
Imped with delight upon her, and to try  
Whether her Mind did answer to her Face,  
He called her to him, when with modest grace  
She fearless came, and humbly on her knee  
Wished a long life unto his Majesty.  
He asked her name; she answered Florimell,  
And blushing made her Beauty so excel,  
That all the thoughts of his Thealma now  
Were hushed and smothered; upon her Brow  
Sat such an awful Majesty, that he  
Was conquered e'er opposed; 'twas strange to see  
How strangely he was altered: still she knelt,  
And still his heart burns with the fire it feels.  
At last the victor prisoner caught with Love,  
Lights from his Chariot, and gins to prove  
The sweetness of the bait that took his heart,  
And with a Kiss uprears her: yet Loves Dart  
Fired not her Breast to welcome his Affection,  
Only hot Sunny Beams with their reflection  
A little warmed her; then he questions who  
Her Parents were, and why apparelled so.  
Where was her dwelling, in what Country born?  
And would have kissed her, when 'twixt fear and scorn  
She put him from her; My dread Lord, said she,  
My Birth is not ignoble, nor was he  
That I call Father, though in some disgrace  
Worthy his unjust Exile: what he was,  
And where I first breathed air, pardon dread King,  
I dare not, must not tell you: none shall wring  
That secret from me; what I am, you see,  
Or by my Habit you may guests to be  
Diana's Votaress: the cause, great Sir,  
That prompts me to this boldness to appear  
Before your Majesty, was what I own,  
And ever shall unto your Valour, know,  
(For you may have forgot it) I am she,  
Who with my good old Father you set free,  
Some two years since, from bloody minded men,  
That would have killed my honour; had not then  
Your timely aid stepped in to rescue me,  
And snatched my bleeding Father, dear to me  
As was mine honour, even from the jaw of Death,  
And given us both a longer stock of breath.  
'Twas this, great King, that drew me with this tram,  
From our Devotion to review again  
My honour's best preserver, and to pay  
The debt of thanks I own you: many a day  
I've wished for such a time, and Heaven at last  
Hath made me happy in it: day was now  
Well nigh spent, and cattle began to low  
Homewards t' unlade their milky bags, when she  
Her Speech had ended; every one might see  
Love sit in triumph on Alexis brow,  
Firing the captive Conqueror, and now  
He begins to court her, and love tipped his Tongue  
With winning Rhetoric; her hand he wrung,  
And would again have kissed her; but the Maid  
With a coy blush 'twixt angry and afraid  
Fling from the King, and with her Virgin train,  
Fled swift as Roes unto their Bower again.  
Alexis would have followed, but he knew  
What eyes were on him, and himself withdrew  
Into his Chariot, and to Courtward went  
With all his Nobles, hiding his intent  
Under the veil of pleasant light discourse,  
Which some marked well enough; that night perforce  
They all were glad within the open Plain  
To pitch their Tents, where many a Shepherd Swain  
Upon their Pipes trouled out their Evening Lays  
In various accents emulous of praise.  
It was a dainty pleasure for to hear,  
How the sweet Nightingales their throats did tear,  
Envying their skill, or taken with delight,  
As I think rather, that the stillborn night  
Afforded such copartners of their woes.  
And at a close from the pure streams that flows  
Out of the rocky Caverns not far off,  
Echo replied aloud, and seemed to scoff  
At their sweet sounding airs, this did so take  
Lovesick Alexis willingly awake,  
That he did wish it had been a week to day  
T' have heard them still; but time for none will stay,  
The wearied Shepherds at their usual hour  
Put up their Pipes, and in their Straw-thatcht Bower  
Slept out the rest of night, the King likewise  
Tired with a weary March shut in his eyes.  
Within their leaden sold all hushed and still;  
Thus for a while we leave him, till my Quill  
Weary and blunted with so long a story,  
Rest to be sharpened, and then she is for ye.   

No sooner welcome day with glimmering light  
Began to chase away the shades of night,  
But echo wakens, roused by the Shepherd Swains,  
And back reverberates their louder strains.  
The airy Choir had tuned their slender throats,  
And filled the bushy groves with their sweet Notes  
The Flocks were soon unfolded, and the Lambs  
Kneel for a Breakfast to their milky Dams.  
And now Aurora blushing greets the world,  
And o'er her Face a curled Mantle hurled:  
Foretelling a fair day, the Soldiers now  
Began to bustle; some their Trumpers blow,  
Some beat their Drums, that all the Camp throughout  
With sounds of War they drill the Soldiers out.  
The Nobles soon were horsed, expecting still  
Their King's approach, but he had slept but ill,  
But was but then arising, heavy eyed,  
And cloudy looked, and something ill beside.  
But he did cunningly dissemble it  
Before his Nobles, all that they could get  
From him was that, a Dream he had that night  
Did much disturb him; yet seemed he make slight  
Of what so troubled him; but up he cheers  
His Soldiers with his presence, and appears  
As hearty as his troubled thoughts gave leave:  
So that except his groans, none could perceive  
Much alteration in him: toward Court  
The Army marches, and swift winged report  
Had soon divulged their coming; by the way  
He meets old Memnon, who, as you heard say,  
Was Sire to Florimell, good man, he then  
Was going to his Daughter: when his men  
Then in the Army in his passing by  
Tendered their duty to him lovingly.  
He bids them welcome home; the King drew near,  
And questioned who that poor man was, and where  
His dwelling was; and why those Soldiers showed  
Such reverence to him; 'twas but what they owed  
Answered a slander by; he is their Lord,  
And one that merits more than they afford.  
If worth were rightly valued (gracious Sir)  
His name is Memnon, if one may believe  
His own report; yet sure, as I conceive,  
He's more than what he seems: the Army than  
Had made a stand when Memnon and his men  
Were called before the King: the good old man  
With Tears, that joy brought forth, this wise began.  
To welcome home Alexis ever be  
Those sacred powers blessed, that lets me see  
My Sovereigns safe return: still may that power  
Strengthen your arm to Conquer: Heaven still shower  
Its choicest blessings on my Sovereign,  
My life's preserver: welcome home again.  
I would my Girl were here, with that he wept,  
When from his Chariot Alexis s●ept,  
And lovingly embraced him: he knew well  
That this was Memnon, Sire to Florimell:  
And to mind how he had set them free  
From more than cruel Rebels; glad was he  
So luckily to meet him, from his wrist  
He took a Jewel, 'twas an Amythist  
Made like a Heart with wings: the Motto this,  
Love gives me wings, and with a— kiss.  
He gave it to old Memnon: bear, said he,  
This Jewel to your Child, and let me see  
Both you and her at Court, fail not with speed  
To let me see you there: old man, I need  
Thy grave advise; all wondered at the deed,  
But chief Memnon: Father, said the King,  
I'll think upon your men: fail not to bring  
Your Daughter with you; so his leave he takes,  
And ravished Memnon towered his Daughter makes.  
The Army could not reach the Court that night,  
But lay in open Field, yet within sight  
Of Pallimando where the Court then lay.  
For greater state Alexis the next day  
Purposed to enter it; the Townsmen they  
In the mean time prepare what cost they may,  
With Shows and Presents to bid welcome home  
Their victor King; and amongst them were some  
Studied Orations, and composed new lays  
In honour of their King: the Oak and Bays  
Were woven into Garlands for to crown  
Such as by Valour had gained most renown.  
Scarce could the joyful people sleep that night,  
In expectation of the morrows sight.  
The King and Soldiers enter: all men's eyes  
Were fixed upon the King with such desire,  
As if they'd seen a God, while Music's Choir  
Filled every corner with resounding lays,  
That spoke the conquering Alexis praise.  
Drowned in the vulgars' louder acclamations,  
'Twould ask an age to tell what preparations  
Were made to entertain him, and my muse  
Grows somewhat weary: these triumphant shows  
Continued long, yet seemed to end too soon,  
The people wished 'thad been a week to noon.  
By noon the King was housed, and order given  
To pay the Soldiers, now it grew towered even,  
And all repair to rest; so I to mine,  
And leave them buried in sound sleep and Wine.  
I'll tell you more hereafter, friendships laws  
Will not deny a friendly rest and pause.   

You heard some few leaves past Alexis had  
A Dream than troubled him, and made him sad.  
Now being come home it began revive a fresh  
Within his memory, and much oppress  
The pensive King: Sylvanus, who you heard  
Was good at Divinations, had steered  
His course, as fate would have him, then to Court,  
Beloved and reverenced of the nobler sort,  
And Sainted by the vulgar: that that brought  
The old man thither, was, for that he thought  
To meet Anaxus there; but he you heard  
Was othereways employed: the Nobles cheered  
Their lovesick King with the welcome report  
Of old Sylvanus coming to the Court;  
For he had heard great talk of him before,  
And now thought long to see him, and the more  
Because he hoped to learn from his tried arr,  
What his Dream meant, that so disturbed his heart.  
Sylvanus soon was sent for, and soon came,  
At his first greeting he began to blame  
Th' amorous King for giving way to grief  
Upon so slight occasion, but relief  
Was rather needful now than admonition  
That came too lat, his mind lacked a Physician,  
And healing comforts were to be applied  
Unto his Wounds before they mortified.  
Sylvanus therefore wished him to disclose  
The troublous Dream he had, and to repose  
His trust in that strong power that only could  
Discover hidden secrets, and unfold  
The riddle of a Dream, and that his skill  
Was but inspired by that great power, whose will  
By weakest means is oftentimes made known.  
Methought (Alexis said) I was alone  
By the Sea side noting the prouder Waves,  
How Mountain-like they swell, and with loud braves  
Threaten the bounden Shore; when from the Main  
I see a Turtle rise, the Wings and Train  
Well-nigh deplumed, and making piteous moan,  
And by a mark I guessed it was mine own;  
And flying towered me, suddenly a Kite  
Swooped at the Bird, and in her feeble flight  
Soon seized upon her, crying, as I thought,  
To me for help: no sooner was she caught,  
When as an Eagle seeking after prey,  
Flew towered the main Land from the Isles this way,  
And spying of the Kite, the kingly Fowl  
Seized on her straight; the Turtle pretty soul  
Was by this means set free, and faintly gate  
Upon the eagle's back, ordained by fate  
To be preserved: full glad was I to see  
Her so escape; but the Eagle suddenly  
Soaring aloft to Seaward, took her flight,  
And in a moment both were out of sight,  
And left me betwixt joy and sorrow; sad  
For the Birds flight, yet for her freedom glad.  
Then, to my thinking, I espied a Swain,  
Running affraighted towered me o'er the Plain.  
Upon his wrist methought a Turtle sat,  
Not much unlike th' other mourning for's Mate:  
Only this difference was; upon her head  
She had a tuft of Feathers blue and red,  
In fashion of a Crown; it did me good  
To see how proudly the poor Turtle stood  
Pruning herself, as if she scorned her thrall.  
If harmless Doves can scorn that have no Gall.  
I was so much in love with the poor Bird,  
I wished it mine, methought the Swain I heard  
Cry our for help to me: with that I spied  
A Lion running agter him glare-eyed,  
And full of rage; fear made the Swain let go  
The lovely Turtle to escape his foe.  
The Bird no sooner lose, made to the Beast,  
And in his curled Locks plaits out a Nest,  
The Beast not minding any other prey  
Save what he had, ran bellowing away,  
As overjoyed; and as methought I strove  
To follow him I waked, and all did prove  
But a deluding Dream; yet such a one  
As nightly troubles me to think upon.  
The powers above direct thee to unfold  
The mystery of it; 'twas no sooner told,  
When Old Sylvanus with a cheerful smile,  
Answered the King in a familiar stile.  
You are in love, dread Sovereign, and with two,  
One will not serve your turn, look what you do,  
You will go near to lose them both; but fate  
At length will give you one to be your mate.  
She that loves you, you must not love as Wife.  
And she that loves another as her life  
Shall be th' Arcadian Queen; take comfort then,  
The two lost Turtles you will find again.  
Thus much my Art doth tell me, more than this  
I dare not let you know: my counsel is  
You would with patience note the working fates,  
That Joy proves best that's bought at dearest rates.  
He would not name Anaxus, though he knew  
He should make one in what was to ensue;  
And would not hasten sorrow sooner on him,  
Than he himself would after pull upon him.  
The King was somewhat satisfied with what  
Sylvanus told him; and subscribed to fate.  
He puts on cheerful looks, and to his Lords  
No little comfort by his health affords.  
He sits in Council, and recals those Peers  
That lived concealed in Exile many years.  
Amongst whom was Rhotus, Memnon, and some others;  
And though with cunning his desire he somthers,  
yet did he not forget fair Florimell,  
Of whom my straggling Muse is now to tell.  
Memnon, you heard, was going to his Child,  
When the King left him with a heart e'er filled  
With Joy and Hopes: some marks he had espied  
About Alexis, which so fortified  
His strong conjecture, that he was the man  
He ever took him for, that he began  
With youthful cheerfulness to chide his Age,  
That stole so soon upon him with presage,  
Sweetening his saucy sorrows that had showered  
Life's blessing to him; many tears he showered  
With thought of what had passed, and though not sure  
Alexis was his Son, those thoughts did cure,  
Or at the leastwise eased his troubled mind.  
The good old man no sooner saw his Child,  
And blessed her for her Duty, when he smiled  
At what he was to say, and glad she was  
To see her Sire so cheerful; to let pass  
The long discourse between them: 'twas his will  
She should prepare for Court, chiding her still  
For mentioning Anaxus; nor did he  
Give her long time to think on, what might be  
The cause that moved her Father to such haste,  
But by the way he had given her a taste  
Of what might follow: three days were assigned  
Her for or get things ready; 'twas his mind  
It should be so, and Duty must obey:  
When Fathers bid, 'tis sin to say them nay.  
Well then he meant to send for her, till when  
He leaves her to her thoughts, and home again  
The joyful old man wends; that very night  
Before the day prefixed, the fates to spite  
Secure Alexis, sent Anaxus thither,  
And brought his long-sought Love and him together.  
You know we left him with old Eubolus,  
A wisely discreet man and studious.  
In Liberal Arts well seen, and State Affairs,  
Yet lived retired to shun the weight of cares.  
That greatness fond sues for: All that night  
Was spent in good discourse too long to write,  
He told the Prince the story of the War,  
And Portrayed out Alexis character  
So to the life, that he was fired to see  
The man he spoke of, and disguised he  
Intended in his thoughts next day to prove  
The truth of what he heard: but cruel Jove  
That loves to tyrannize for pleasure, stayed  
His purposed Journey, and unawares betrayed  
Anaxus to an ambush of sad woes  
That set on him, when he least dreamed of Foes.  
Amongst the various discourse that passed  
Between these two, it fortuned at last  
Eubolus fell in talk of Florimell,  
And of her Father Memnon, who full well  
He knew to be a Lemnian, howsoe'er  
He gave it out for otherwise for fear  
Of double-eyed suspicion to the Prince.  
He set his Virtues forth, and how long since  
He lest his native Soil; the Prince conceived  
Good hope of what he aimed at, and believed  
By all conjectures that this Memnon might  
Be banished Codrus, whom he meant to right,  
If ever he was King. Eubolus went on  
In praises of him and of Florimell.  
Friend (quoth the Prince Anaxus) canst thou tell  
Where this fair Virgin is? yes, he replied,  
I can and will, 'tis by yond River side,  
Where yonder tuft of Trees stands, day than broke,  
And he might well discern it; for love's sake,  
Answered Anaxus, may one see this Maid,  
That merits all these praises; yes, he said,  
But thro' a grate, no man must enter in  
Within the Cloister, that they hold a sin:  
Yet, she hath liberty some time to go  
To see her Father, none but she hath so.  
What e'er the matter is, unless when all  
Armed with their Bows go to some Festival  
Upon a noted Holiday, and then  
These Female Army, out and home again  
In comely order marcheth: th'other day  
It was my luck to see her, when this way  
The King came from the Wars, she with her Train,  
(For she seemed Captain) met him on this Plain.  
Her coming thither, as I heard her say,  
Was for her life's preserving to repay  
A debt of thanks she owed him: many words  
Did pass between them, and before the Lords  
Most graciously he kissed her, and did woe  
Her for a longer stay; but she in scorn,  
Or finding him too amorous, blue her Horn,  
To call her Troop together; all like Roes  
Ran swiftly towered their Cloister, she is fair,  
And you know Beauty is a tempting snare.  
Here is no common one, her very eye  
That sparkled with a king of Majesty▪  
Might without wonder captivate a King;  
But this is ●oo too high a strain to sing.  
It was enough that Eubolus had said,  
If not too much, to him that throughly weighed  
Each circumstance a kind of jealous fire  
Stole to his heart, and spurred on his desire  
To see and prove her; taking Pen and Ink  
He writ his mind, foreseeing (as I think)  
She might not come alone unto the Grate,  
And so could not so privately relate  
(If she should prove Clarinda) his intent.  
So for an hour in vain to sleep he went,  
But restless thoughts did keep him still awake,  
Still musing on the words the old man spoke.  
Well, Sun being up, with thanks he takes his leave  
Of his kind Host, that did not once perceive  
Him to be troubled: with such cunning he  
Dissembled what had moved him, jealousy.  
His man and he toward the Cloister go,  
Casting in's mind what he were best to do  
To win a sight of her: his nimble Brain  
Soon hatched a polity, that proved not vain.  
The Cloister outward Gare was newly open,  
When he came there; and now 'twixt fear and hope  
He boldly enters the base Court, and knocks  
At th' inner Gate fast shut with divers Locks:  
At length one came, the Portress, as I guess,  
For she had many Keys, her stranger dress  
Much took Anaxus, who ne'er sae till then  
Women attired so prettily like men.  
In courteous wise she asked him what he would?  
Fair Dame, said he, I have been often told  
(By one I make no question) whom you know,  
Old Memnon, (to whose tender care I own  
For my good breeding) that within this place  
I have a Kinswoman, that lately was  
Admitted for a Holy Sister here,  
My Uncle Memnon's Daughter; once a year  
As Duty binds me, I do visit him,  
And in my Journey homeward at this time.  
A Kinsman's love prompted me to bestow  
A visit on my Cousin; who I know  
Will not disdain to own me: Gentle Sir,  
Answered the manlike Maid, is it to her  
you'd pay your loving tender? Yes, said he,  
To Florimell if in this place she be?  
And so my Uncle told me. Yes replied  
The grave Virago, she is here: Yet, Sir,  
You must content yourself to speak with her  
Through this Grate; her Father comes not in,  
And by our Laws it is esteemed a sin  
To interchange aught else, save words with men.  
I ask no more, the Prince replied again.  
That cannot be denied, said she, stay here  
With patience a while, and do not fear  
But you shall see her; so away she went,  
Leaving the glad Anaxus to invent  
Excuses for his boldness, if by hap  
She might not prove Clarinda, and entrap  
Him in a lie: Clarinda came at last  
With all her Train, who as along she passed  
Through the inward Court, did make a lane,  
Opening their ranks, and closing them again.  
As she went forward with obsequious gesture,  
Doing their reverence; her upward Vesture  
Was of blue Silk, glistering with Stars of Gold  
Girt to her Waste, by Serpents that enfold,  
And wrap themselves together, so well wrought,  
And fashioned to the life, one would have thought  
They had been real. Underneath she wore  
A Coat of Silver Tinsel, short before,  
And fringed about with Gold▪ white Buskins hid  
The naked of her Leg, they were lose tied  
With Azure Ribbons, on whose knots were seen  
Most costly Gems, fit only for a Queen.  
Her Hair bound up like to a Coronet,  
With Diamonds, Rubies, and rich Sapphires set;  
And on the top a Silver Crescent placed,  
And all the Lustre by such Beauty graced,  
As her reflection made them seem more fair,  
One would have thought Diana's self were there▪  
For in her hand a Silver Bow she held,  
And at her back there hung a Quiver filled  
With Turtle-feathered Arrows: thus attired,  
She makes towards Anaxus, who was fired  
To hear this Goddess speak; when they came near▪  
Both stared upon each other, as if fear  
Or wonder had surprised them; for a while  
Neither could speak, at length with a sweet smile  
Graced with a comely blush, she thus began.  
Good morrow Cousin, are not you the man  
That I should speak with? I may be deceived;  
Are not you kin to Memnon? I believed  
My Maid that told me so; he is my Father.  
If you have aught to say to me, fair Soul,  
Answered Anaxus; many doubts control  
My willingness to answer; pardon me,  
Divinest Creature, if my answer be  
Somewhat impertinent; read here my mind,  
I am Anaxus, and I fain would find  
A chaste Clarinda here: she was about  
To call the port'ress to have let her out.  
But wisely she called back her thought for fear  
Her Virgin Troop might see, or overhear  
What passed between them, doubts did rise  
Within her, whether she might trust her eyes  
It was Anaxus voice, she knew that well,  
But by his disguised look she could not tell  
Whether 'twere he or no; all that she said  
Was, I may prove Clarinda too; and prayed  
Him stay a little, till her short return  
Gave him a better welcome; all her Train  
Thought she had fetched some Jewel for the Swain.  
And as they were commanded, kept their station  
Till her return. The Prince with expectation  
Feeds his faint hopes; she was not long from thence,  
And in a Letter pleads her innocence,  
Which he mistrusted; now she could not speak  
But wept her thoughts, for fear her heart should break.  
And casting o'er a Veil to hid her tears,  
She bid farewel, and leaves him to his fears▪  
With that the Gate was shut: Anaxus reads▪  
And with judicious care each sentence heeds;  
And now he knew't was she whom he so long  
Had sought for; now he thinks upon the wrong  
His rash mistruct had done her, 'twas her will,  
What e'er he thought of her, to love him still:  
Nor could th' Arcadian Crown tempt her to bread  
Her promise with Anaxus: Now to seek  
For an excuse to gild o'er this offence;  
Yet this did somewhat cheer him, two hours thence  
He was enjoined to come unto a Bower  
That overlooked the Wall; and at his hour  
Anaxus came; there she had often spent  
One hour or two each day alone, to vent  
Her private griefs: she came the sooner than  
To meet Anaxus, and to talk again  
With him, whom yet her fears mis-gave her, might  
Be some disguised Cheat: at the first sight  
She frowned upon him, and with angry look,  
A Title that but ill became the Book  
Wherein her milder thoughts were writ: Are you  
(Said she) Anaxus? these lose lines do show  
Rather you are some counterfeit; set on  
By some to tempt my honour, here are none  
That love the world so well to sell her Fame,  
Or violate her yet unspotted Name,  
To meet a King's Embraces, though a Crown,  
And that the richest Fortune can stake down  
Should be the hire; I tell thee saucy Swain,  
Whoever sent thee; I so much disdain  
To yield to what these loser lines import,  
That rather than I will be drawn to Court  
To be Alexis' Whore; nay, or his Wife,  
I have a thousand ways to let out life.  
But why dost thou abuse Anaxus so?  
To make him Pander to my overthrow:  
knowst thou the man thou wrong'st; uncivil Swain?  
Thou hast my Answer, carry back disdain.  
With that she was about to fling away,  
When he recalled her; loath to go away,  
What e'er she seemed: before sh'had turned about  
He pulled off his false Hair, and cured her doubt.  
My dearest Florimell, said he, and wept:  
My sweet Clarinda; and hath Heaven kept  
Thee yet alive to recompense my love;  
My yet unchanged affection, that can move  
But in one Sphere in thee and thee alone,  
Forgive me, my Clarinda, what is done  
Was but to try thee, and when thou shalt know  
The reason why I did so: and what woe  
My love to thee hath made me willingly  
To undergo: thou wilt confess that I  
Deserve Clarinda's love: poor Florimell  
Would fain have sooner answered; but tears fell  
In such abundance that her words were drowned  
Even in their birth; at length her passions found  
Some little vent to breath out this reply:  
O my Anaxus, if it be no sin  
To call you mine, methinks I now begin  
To breathe new life, for I am but your creature,  
Sorrow had killed what I received fromn nature  
Before I see you; though this piece of Clay  
My body seemed to move, until this day  
It did not truly live: my Heart you had,  
And, that you pleased to have it, I was glad:  
Yet, till you brought it hime, the life I led,  
If it were any, was but nourished  
By th' warmth I had from yours, which I still cherished  
With some faint hopes, or else I quite had perished▪  
But time steals on, and I have much to say,  
Take it in brief, for I'd be loath my stay  
Above my usual hour should breed suspect  
In my chaste Sisterhood: blessed powers direct  
Me what to do; my soul's in such a straight  
And labyrinth of doubts and fears that wait  
Upon my weakness, that I know no way  
How to wade out: to morrow is the day,  
Th' unwelcome day when I must to the Court,  
For what intent I know not; to be short,  
I would not go, nor dare I here to stay,  
The King so wills it: yet should I obey  
It might perhaps undo me; besides this,  
My Father so commands it, and it is  
A well-becoming duty in a child  
To stoop unto his will: yet to be styled,  
For doing what he bids me, a lose Dame,  
And cause report to question my chaste Fame;  
'Twere better disobey; a Father's will  
Binds like a law, in goodness, not in ill.  
I hope I sin not, that so ill conceive  
Of th' end I'm sent for; and, can I believe  
That honour's aimed at in't? Court-Favors shine  
Seldom on mean ones, but for some design.  
Are not these fears to startle weak-built Women,  
A Virgin Child of Virtue should she summon  
Her best and stoutest resolves; with that, in tears  
And sighs, she speaks the remnant of her fears,  
And sinks beneath their weight; Anaxus soon  
Caught hold of her, so that she fell not down,  
And shaking of her, plucked her to the Grate  
And with a Kiss revived her; 'twas now late,  
The Cloister Bell had summoned all to bed,  
And she was missing, little more she said,  
Save help me my Anaxus, keep the Jewel,  
My love once gave thee: swift time was so cruel  
He could not answer; for her Virgin Train  
Flocked to the Lodge, and she must back again.  
She had enjoined him silence, and to speak  
Anaxus durst not, though his heart should break:  
As it was more than full of care and grief  
For his Clarinda, thirsting for relief.  
And in his looks one might have read his mind,  
How apt it was t'afford it, still sh'enjoyned  
Him not to speak; such was her wary fears  
To be discovered; kisses mixed with tears  
Was their best Oratory: then they part,  
Yet turn again t'exchange each others heart.  
Something was still forgot; it is love's use  
In what chaste thoughts forbidden to find excuse.  
Her Virgin's knock, in vain she wipes her eyes  
To hid her passions, that still higher rise.  
She whispers in his ear; think on to morrow,  
They faintly bid farewell, both full of sorrow.  
The window shuts, and with a feigned cheer  
Clarinda wends unto her Cloister, where  
A while we'll leave her to discourse with fear.   

Pensive Anaxus to the next Town hies  
To seek a lodging: rather to advise  
And counsel with himself, what way he might  
Plot Florimel's escape: 'twas late at night,  
And all were drowned in sleep; save restless lovers,  
At length as chance would have it, he discovers  
A glimmering light, towered it he makes and knocks  
And with fair language, open, picks the Locks.  
He enters, and is welcome by his Host  
Where we will leave him and return again  
Unto th' Arcadian Court to sing a strain  
Of short-lived Joy, soon soured, by such a sorrow  
As will drink all our tears: and I would borrow  
Some time to think on't, 'twill come at the last,  
" Sorrows we dream not on, have sourest taste.   

Cleon and Rhotus, as you heard of late,  
Were travelling to Court, when (led by Fate)  
They met Thealma, who by them had sent  
A Jewel to the King: six days were spent  
Before they reached the Court; for Rhotus sake  
Cleon was nobly welcomed, means they make  
To do their message to the lovesick King,  
And with Sylvanus found him communing.  
Sometimes he smiled, another while he frowned,  
Anon his paler cheeks with tears be'en drowned;  
And ever and anon he calls a Groom,  
And frowning asked if Memnon were not come.  
One might perceive such changes in the King,  
As hath th'inconstant wellkin in the Spring.  
Now a fair day, anon a Dropsy cloud  
Puts out the Sun, and, in a Sable shroud  
The day seems buried; when the Clouds are o'er,  
The glorious Sun shines brighter than before:  
But long it lasts not; so Alexis fared:  
His Sunlike Majesty was not impaired  
So much by sorrow, but that now and then  
It would break forth into a smile again.  
At last Sylvanus leaves him for a space,  
And, he was going to seek out a place  
To vent his griefs in private; ere he went,  
He asked if one for Memnon was yet sent?  
With that he spies old Rhotus, him he meets,  
And Cleon with him; both, he kindly greets.  
They kneeling, kiss his hand; he bids them rise,  
And still Alexis noble Cleon eyes.  
Whence are you, Father (said he) what's your name?  
Cleon replied, from Lemnos, Sir, I came,  
My name is Cleon; and full well the King  
Knew he was so, yet he kept close the thing.  
He list not let his Nobles know so much,  
What e'er the matter was: his grace was such  
To the old men, as rich in worth as years.  
He leads them in, and welcomes them with tears:  
The thoughts of what had passed, wrung from his eyes.  
And, with the King in Tears, they sympathise.  
O Rhotus, said he, 'twas thy charity  
That raised me to this greatness, else had I  
Fallen lower than the Grave, and in the Womb  
Of the salt Ocean wept me out a Tomb.  
Thy timely help preserved me, so it pleased  
The all-disposing Fates. There the King ceased  
His sad discourse; he sighs and weeps afresh,  
And rings old Rhotus hand in thankfulness.  
Sorrow had tongue-tied all, and now they speak  
Their minds in sighs and tears, nor could they check  
These embrios of passion: reason knows  
No way to counsel passion that overflows.  
Yet like to one that falls into a swoon,  
In whom we can discern no motion,  
No life, nor feeling, not a gasp of breath,  
(So like the bodies faintings are to death)  
By little and by little Life steals in,  
At last he comes unto himself again.  
Life was but fled unto the heart for fear,  
And thronging in it, well-nigh stifles there,  
Till by its struggling Fear that chilled the heart,  
Meeting with warmth, is forced for to departed,  
And's Life is lose again: so sorrow wrought  
Upon these three, that any would have thought  
Them weeping Statues; Reason at the length  
Struggling with passions recovered strength,  
And forced a way for speech. Rhotus was first  
That broke this silence, there's none better durst;  
He knew his cause of sorrow, and was sure  
The gladsome news he brought had power to cure  
A Death-strook Heart; yet in his wisdom he  
Thought it not best, what e'er his strength might be,  
To let in joy too soon; too sudden joy,  
Instead of comforting, doth oft destroy:  
Experience had taught him so't might be;  
Nor would old Rhotus venture't, wherefore he  
By some ambigual discourses thought  
It best to let him know the news he brought.  
So lowly bowing Rhotus thus gins.  
Dread Sovereign, how ill it suits with Kings  
(Whose Office 'tis to govern men) that they  
Should be their passions laws; self-Reason may,  
Or should instruct you: Pardon, gracious Sir,  
My boldness, Virtue brooks no flatterer;  
Nor dare I be so; you have conquered men,  
And ruled a Kingdom; shall your passions then  
Unking Alexis: be yourself again,  
And curb those homebred rebel thoughts, that have  
No power of themselves, but what you gave  
In suffering them so long: had you not nursed  
Those Serpents in your bosom, but had crushed  
Them in the egg, you then had had your health.  
" He rules the best that best can rule himself.  
And here he paused. Alexis' willing ear  
Was chained to his discourse; when with a tear,  
He sighed out this reply: I know it well,  
I would I could do so; but tears began swell,  
Raised by a storm of sighs: he soon had done.  
Which Rhotus noting, boldly thus went on.  
Most Royal Sir, be comforted, I fear  
My rude Reproofs affect not you soft Ear,  
Which if they have I'm sorry, gracious Sir,  
I ask your pardon, if my Judgement err.  
I came to cure your sorrows, not to add  
Unto their heavy weight that makes you sad.  
To cure me, Rhotus? (said Alexis) no,  
Good man, thou canst not do't, didst thou but know  
The sad cause whence they spring. Perhaps I do,  
Replied old Rhotus, and can name it too.  
If you'll with patience hear me: cheer up then,  
After these showers it may be fair again.  
As I remember, when the Heavens were pleased  
To make me your Preserver, you my Guest,  
(And happy was I that it fell out so)  
Amongst the many fierce assaults of woe,  
That then oppressed your spirit, this was one:  
When you were private, as to be alone  
You most affected, I have often heard  
You sigh out one Thealma; nor have spared  
To curse the Fates for her: what might she be▪  
And what's become of her? if I may be  
So bold to question it, tell us your grie●▪  
" The hearts unlading hastens on relief:  
" When sorrows penned up closely in the breast.  
" Destroy unseen, and render such unrest  
" To the Souls wearied faculties, that Art  
" Despairs to cure them: pluck up a good heart  
And cast out those corroding thoughts that will  
In time undo you, and untimely lay  
Your honour in the dust. The speechless King  
Wept out an Answer to his counselling;  
For, speak he could not, sighs and sobs so thronged  
From his sad heart, they had him quite untongued.  
Will it not be, said Rhotus? then I see  
Alexis is unthankful; not, that He  
That once I took him for: but, I have done.  
When first I found you on the Rock, as one  
Left by stern Fate to ruin, well-nigh drowned,  
And starved with cold, yet Heaven found  
Even in that hopeless exigent, a way  
To raise you to a Crown; and will you pay  
heavens providence with frowns; for ought you know,  
She that you sorrow for so much, may owe  
As much to Heaven as you do, and may live  
To make the Joy complete, which you conceive  
In your despairing thoughts impossible:  
I say, who knows but she may be as well  
As you; nay better, more in health and free  
From headstrong passion? Can I hope to be  
So happy, Rhotus? answered the said King:  
No, she is drowned; these eyes beheld her sink  
Beneath the Mountain Waves, and shall I think  
Their cruelty so merciful, to save  
Her, their ambition strove for to engrave?  
Why not, replied old Cleon, who till then  
Had held his peace:" The Gods work not like men;  
" When Reason's self despairs, and help there's none,  
" Finding no ground for hope to anchor on;  
" Then is their time to work. This you have known,  
And Heaven was pleased to mark you out for one  
It meant thus to preserve: 'tis for some end,  
(A good one too, I hope) and Heaven may send  
This happy seedtime such a joyful crop  
As will weigh down your sorrows, kill not hope  
Before its time, and let it raise your spirit  
To bear your sorrows nobly: never fear it,  
Thealma lives.   
And here the Author died, and I hope the Reader will be sorry.  
FINIS.