Cynthia. WITH Certain Sonnets, and the Legend of Cassandra.  
Quod cupio nequeo.  
At London, Printed for Humphrey Lownes, and are to be sold at the West door of Paul's. 1595.   

To the Right Honourable, and most noble-minded Lord, William Stanley, Earl of Derby, etc.  
RIGHT Honourable, the dutiful affection I bear to your many virtues, is cause, that to manifest my love to your Lordship, I am constrained to show my simpleness to the world. Many are they that admire your worth, of the which number, I (though the meanest in ability▪ yet with the foremost in affection) am one that most desire to serve, and only to serve your Honour.  
Small is the gift, but great is my goodwill; the which, by how much the less I am able to express it, by so much the more it is infinite. Live long▪ and inherit your Predecessors virtues, as you do their dignity and estate. This is my wish: the which your honourable excellent gifts do promise me to obtain: and whereof these few rude and unpollished lines, are a true (though an undeserving) testimony. If my ability were better, the signs should be greater; but being as it is, your honour must take me as I am, not as I should be. My years being so young, my perfection cannot be great: But howsoever it is, yours it is; and I myself am yours; in all humble service, most ready to be commanded.  
Richard Barnefeilde.   

To the courteous Gentlemen Readers.  
GEntlemen; the last Term there came forth a little toy of mine, entitled, The affectionate Shepherd: In the which, his Country Content found such friendly favour, that it hath encouraged me to publish my second fruits. The affectionate Shepherd being the first: howsoever undeservedly (I protest) I have been thought (of some) to have been the author of two Books heretofore. I need not to name them, because they are too-well known already: nor will I deny them, because they are disliked; but because they are not mine. This protestation (I hope) will satisfy th'indifferent: and as for them that are maliciously envious, as I cannot, so I care not to please. Some there were, that did interpret The affectionate Shepherd, otherwise then (in truth) I meant, touching the subject thereof▪ to wit, the love of a Shepherd to a boy; a fault, the which I will not excuse, because I never made. Only this, I will unshaddow my conceit: being nothing else, but an imitation of Virgil, in the second Eglogue of Alexis. In one or two places (in this Book) I use the name of Eliza pastorally: wherein, lest any one should misconstrue my meaning (as I hope none will) I have here briefly discovered my harmless conceit as concerning that name▪ whereof once (in a simple shepherds device) I wrote this Epigram.  

One name there is, which name above all other  
I most esteem, as time and place shall prove:  
The one is Vesta, th' other Cupid's Mother,  
The first my Goddess is, the last my love;  
Subject to Both I am: to that by birth;  
To this for beauty; fairest on the earth.   
Thus, hoping you will bear with my rude conceit of Cynthia, (if for no other cause, yet, for that it is the first imitation of the verse of that excellent Poet, Master Spencer, in his Fairy Queen) I leave you to the reading of that, which I so much desire may breed your Delight.  
Richard Barnefeild.   

T. T. in commendation of the Author his work.  

Whilom that in a shepherds grey coat masked,  
(Where masked love the nonage of his skill)  
Rears now his Eaglewinged pen, new tasked,  
To seal the by-Clift Muse sole-pleasing hill:  
Dropping sweet Nectar poesy from his quill,  
Admires fair CYNTHIA with his ivory pen  
Fair CYNTHIA loved, feared, of Gods and men.   

Down sliding from that clouds ore-pearing mountain:  
Decking with double grace the neighbour plains,  
Draws crystal dew, from PEGASE foote-sprung fountain,  
Whose flower set banks, delights, sweet choice contains:  
Near yet discovered to the country swains:  
Hear bud those branches, which adorn his turtle,  
With love made garlands, of heart-bleeding Myrtle.   

Raised from the cinders, of the thrice-fact town▪  
ILLION'S sooth-telling SYBILLIST appears,  
Eclipsing PHOEBUS' love, with fcornefull frown,  
Whose tragic end, affords warme-water tears,  
(For pitty-wanting PACOE, none for bears,  
Such period haps, to beauty's price ore-prized:  
Where Janus-faced love, doth lark disguised.   

Near waning CYNTHIA yields thee triple thanks,  
Whose beams unborrowed dark the world's fair eye,  
And as full streams that ever fill their banks,  
So those rare Sonnets, where wits ripe doth lie,  
With Trojan Nymph, do soar thy fame to sky.  
And those, and these, contend thy Muse to raise  
(Lark mounting Muse) with more than common praise.    

To his Mistress.  

BRight Star of Beauty, fairest Fair alive,  
Rare precedent of peerless chastiry;  
(In whom the Muses and the Graces strive,  
Which shall possess the chiefest part of thee:)  
Oh let these simple lines accepted be:  
Which here I offer at thy sacred shrine:  
Sacred, because sweet Beauty is divine.   

And though I cannot please each curious care,  
With sugared Notes of heavenly Harmony:  
Yet if my love shall to thyself appear,  
No other Muse I will invoke but thee:  
And if thou wilt my fair Thalia be,  
He sing sweet Hymns and praises to thy name,  
In that cleanre Temple of eternal Fame.   

But ah (alas) how can mine infant Muse  
(That never heard of Helicon before)  
Perform my promise past: when they refuse  
Poor Shepherds Plaints? yet will I still adore  
Thy sacred Name, although I writ no more:  
Yet hope I shall, if this accepted be:  
If not, in silence sleep eternally.    

CYNTHIA.  

NOW was the welkin all enveloped  
With dusky Mantle of the sable Night:  
And CYNTHIA lifting up her drooping head,  
Blushed at the Beauty of her borrowed light,  
When Sleep now summoned every mortal wight.  
Then the (me thought) I saw or seemed to see,  
An heavenly Creature like an Angel bright,  
That in great haste come pacing towards me:  
Was never mortal eye beheld so fair a She.   

Thou lazy man (quoth she) what makest thou here  
(Lulled in the lap of Honour's Enemy?)  
I here command thee now for to appear  
(By virtue of loves much Maiestle)  
In yonder Wood▪ (Which with her finger she  
Out-poysiting) had no sooner turned her face,  
And leaving me to muse what she should be,  
Yuanished into some other place:  
But strait (me thought) I saw a rout of heavenly (Race.   

Down in a Dale, hard by a Forest side,  
(Under the shadow of a lofty Pine,)  
Not far from whence a trickling stream did glide,  
Did nature by her secret art combine,  
A pleasant Arbour, of a spreading Vine:  
Wherein Art strove with nature to compare,  
That made it rather seem a thing divine,  
Being situate all in the open Air:  
A fairer near was seen, if any seen so fair.   

There might one see, and yet not see (indeed)  
Fresh Flora flourishing in chiefest Prime,  
Arrayed all in gay and gorgeous weed,  
The Primrose and sweet-smelling Eglantine,  
As fitted best beguiling so the time:  
And ever as she went she strewed the place,  
Red-roses mixed with Daffodils fine,  
For Gods and Goddesses, that in like case  
In this same order sat, with il-beseeming grace.   

First, in a royal Chair of massy gold,  
(Bard all about with plates of burning steel)  
Sat jupiter most glorious to behold,  
And in his hand was placed Fortunes wheel:  
The which he often turned, and oft did reel.  
And next to him, in grief and gealouzie,  
(If fight may censure what the heart doth feel)  
In sad lament was placed Mercury;  
That dying seemed to weep, & weeping seemed to die.   

On th' other side, above the other twain,  
(Delighting as it seemed to sit alone)  
Sat Mulciber; in pride and high disdain,  
Mounted on high upon a stately throne,  
And even with that I heard a deadly groan:  
Musing at this, & such an uncouth sight, (moan)  
(Not knowing what should make that piteous  
I saw three furies, all in Armour dight,  
With every one a Lamp, and every one a light.   

I deemed so; nor was I much deceived,  
For poured forth in sensual Delight,  
There might I see of Senses quite bereaved  
King Priam's Son, that Alexander hight,  
(Wrapped in the Mantle of eternal Night.)  
And under him, awaiting for his fall,  
Sat Shame, here Death, & there sat fell Despite,  
That with their Horror did his heart appall:  
Thus was his Bliss to Bale, his Honey turned to gall.   

In which delight feeding mine hungry eye,  
Of two great Goddesses a sight I had,  
And after them in wondrous jollity,  
(As one that inly joyed, so was she glad)  
The Queen of Love full royally clad,  
In glistering Gold, and peerless precious stone,  
There might I spy: and her Companion bad,  
Proud Paris, Nephew to Laomedon,  
That afterward did cause the Death of many a one.   

By this the foremost melting all in tears,  
And raining down resolved Pearls in showers,  
'Gan to approach the place of heavenly Pheares,  
And with her weeping, watering all their Bowers,  
Throwing sweet Odours on those fading flowers,  
At length, she them bespoke thus mournfully.  
High jove (quoth she) and ye Celestial powers,  
That here in judgement sit twixt her and me,  
Now listen (for a while) and judge with equity.   

Sporting ourselves to day, as we were wont,  
(I mean, I, Pallas, and the Queen of Love,)  
Intending with Diana for to hunt,  
On Ida Mountain top our skill to prove,  
A golden Ball was trindled from above,  
And on the Rind was writ this Poesy,  
PVLCHERIMae for which a while we strove,  
Each saying she was fairest of the three,  
When lo a shepherds Swain not far away we see.   

I spied him first, and spying thus bespoke,  
Shall yonder Swain unfold the mystery?  
Agreed (quoth Venus,) and by Stygian Lake,  
To whom he gives the ball so shall it be:  
Nor from his censure will I fly, quoth she,  
(Pointing to Pallas (though I lose the goal.  
Thus every one yplaced in her degree,  
The Shepherd comes, whose partial eyes 'gan role,  
And on our beauties looked, and of our beauty's stole.   

I promised wealth, Minerva promised wit,  
(She promised wit to him that was unwise,)  
But he (fond fool) had soon refused it,  
And minding to bestow that glorious Prize,  
On Venus, that with pleasure might suffice  
His greedy mind in lose lasciviousness:  
Upon a sudden, wanting good advice,)  
Hold here (quoth he) this golden Ball possess,  
Which Paris gives to thee for meed of worthiness,   

Thus have I show'd the sum of all my suit,  
And as a Plaintiff here appeal to thee,  
And to the rest. Whose folly I impute  
To filthy lust, and partiality,  
That made him judge amiss: and so do we  
(Quoth Pallas, Venus) nor will I gainsay,  
Although it's mine by right, yet willingly,  
I here disclaim my title and obey:  
When silence being made, jove thus began to say.   

Thou Venus, art my darling, thou my dear,  
(Minerva,) she, my sister and my wife:  
So that of all a due respect I bear,  
Assigned as one to end this doubtful strife, (life)  
(Touching your form, your fame, your love, your  
Beauty is vain much like a gloomy light,  
And wanting wit is counted but a trife,  
Especially when Honour's put to flight:  
Thus of a lovely, soon becomes a loathly sight.   

Wit without wealth is bad, yet counted good,  
wealth wanting wisdom's worse, yet deemed as well,  
From whence (for ay) doth flow, as from a flood,  
A pleasant Poison▪ and a heavenly Hell,  
where mortal men do cover still to dwell.  
Yet one there is to Virtue so inclined,  
That as for Majesty she bears the Bell,  
So in the truth who tries her princely mind,  
Both Wisdom, Beauty, Wealth, & all in her shall find.   

In Western world amids the Ocean main,  
In coumpleat Virtue shining like the Sun,  
In great Renown a maiden Queen doth reign,  
Whose roy all Race, in Ruin first begun,  
Till heavens bright Lamps dissolve shall near be done:  
In whose fair eyes Love linked with virtues been,  
In everlasting Peace and Union.  
Which sweet Consort in her full well beseem  
Of Bounty, and of Beauty fairest Fairy Queen.   

And to conclude, the gifts in her yfound,  
Are all so noble, royal, and so rare,  
That more and more in her they do abound;  
In her most peerless Prince without compare,  
Endowing still her mind with virtuous care:  
That through the world (so wide) the flying fame,  
(And Name that envies self cannot impair,)  
Is blown of this fair Queen, this gorgeous dame,  
Fame borrowing all men's mouths to royalize the same.   

And with this sentence jupiter did end,  
This is the Prick (quoth he) this is the prays,  
To whom, this as a Present I will send,  
That shameth Cynthia in her silver Rays,  
If so you three this deed do not displease.  
Than one, and all, and every one of them,  
To her that is the honour of her days,  
A second judith in JERUSALEM.  
To her we send this Pearl, this jewel, and this gem.   

Then called he up the winged Mercury,  
(The mighty Messenger of Gods enrolled,)  
And bade him hither hastily to high,  
Whom tended by her Nymphs he should behold,  
Like Pearls ycouched all in shining gold.)  
And even with that, from pleasant slumbering sleep▪  
(Desiring much these wonders to unfold)  
I wak'ning, when Aurora 'gan to peep,  
Deprived so soon of my sweet Dream, 'gan almost weep.   

The Conclusion.  
THus, sacred Virgin, Muse of chastity,  
This difference is betwixt the Moon and thee:  
She shines by Night; but thou by Day dost shine:  
She Monthly changeth▪ thou dost near decline:  
And as the Sun, to her, doth lend his light,  
So he, by thee, is only made so bright:  
Yet neither Sun, nor Moon, thou canst be named,  
Because thy light hath both their beauties shamed:  
Then, since an heavenly Name doth thee befall,  
Thou VIRGO art: (if any Sign at all.   
FINIS.   

SONNET. I.  

Sporting at fancy, setting light by love,  
There came a thief and stole away my heart,  
(And therefore robbed me of my chiefest part)  
Yet cannot Reason him a fellow prove.  
For why his beauty (my heart's thief) affirmeth,  
Piercing no skin (the bodies fensive wall)  
And having leave, and free consent withal,  
Himself not guilty, whom love guilty termeth,  
Conscienee the judge, twelve Reasons are the jury,  
They find mine eyes his beauty t'have let in,  
And on this verdict given, agreed they been,  
Wherhfore, because his beauty did allure ye,  
Your Doom is this: in tears still to be drowned,  
When his fair forchead with disdain is frowned.    

SONNET. II.  

Beauty and Majesty are fallen at odds,  
Th'one claims his check, the other claims his chin;  
Then Virtue comes, and puts her title in.  
(Quoth she) I make him like th'immortal Gods.  
(Quoth Majesty) I own his looks, his Brow,  
His lips, (quoth Love) his eyes, his fair is mine.  
And yet (quoth Majesty) he is not thine,  
I mix Disdain with loves congealed Snow.  
I, but (quoth Love) his locks are mine (by right)  
His stately gate is mine (quoth Majesty,)  
And mine (quoth Virtue) is his Modesty.  
Thus as they strive about this heavenly wight,  
At last the other two to Virtue yield,  
The lists of Love, fought in fair Beauty's field.    

SONNET. III.  

The Stoics think, (and they come near the truth,)  
That virtue is the chiefest good of all,  
The Academics on Idea call.  
The Epicures in pleasure spend their youth,  
The Perrepatetickes judge felicity,  
To be the chiefest good above all other,  
One man, thinks this: & that conceives another:  
So that in one thing very few agree.  
Let Stoics have their Virtue if they will,  
And all the rest their chief▪ supposed good,  
Let cruel Martialists delight in blood,  
And Miser's joy their bags with gold to fill:  
My chiefest good, my chief felicity,  
Is to be gazing on my loves fair eye▪    

SONNET. FOUR  

Two stars there are in one fair firmament,  
(Of some entitled Ganymedes sweet face)  
Which other stars in brightness do disgrace,  
As much as Po in clearness passeth Trent.  
Nor are they common natured stars▪ for why,  
These stars when other shine vail their pure light,  
And when all other vanish out of sight,  
They add a glory to the world's great eye,  
By these two stars my life is only led,  
In them I place my joy, in them my pleasure,  
loves piercing Darts, & Nature's precious treasure  
With their sweet food my fainting soul is fed:  
Then when my sun is absent from my sight  
How can it choose (with me) but be dark night?    

SONNET. V  

It is reported of fair Thetis Son,  
(Achilles' famous for his chivalry,  
His noble mind and magnanimity,)  
That when the Trojan wars were new begun,  
Whos'euer was deep-wounded with his spear,  
Can never be▪ recured of his maim,  
Nor ever after be made whole again:  
Except with that spears rust he helped were.  
Even so it fareth with my fortune now,  
Who being wounded with his piercing eye,  
Must either thereby find a remedy,  
Or else to be relieved I know not how.  
Then if thou hast a mind still to annoy me,  
Kill me with kisses, if thou wilt destroy me.    

SONNET. VI  

Sweet Coral lips, where Nature's treasure lies,  
The balm of bliss, the sovereign salve of sorrow  
The secret touch of loves heartburning arrow,  
Come quench my thirst or else poor Daphne dies.  
One night I dreamed (alas 'twas but a Dream)  
That I did feel the sweetness of the same▪  
Wherewith inspired, I young again became,  
And from my heart a spring of blood did stream,  
But when I wake, I found it nothing so,  
Save that my limbs (me thought) did wax more strong  
And I more lusty far, & far more young.  
This gift on him rich Nature did bestow.  
Then if in dreaming so, I so did speed,  
What should I do, if I did so indeed?    

SONNET. VII.  

Sweet Thames I honour thee, not for thou art  
The chiefest River of the fairest Isle,  
Nor for thou dost admirers eyes beguile,  
But for thou hold'st the keeper of my heart,  
For on thy waves, (thy Crystal▪ billowed waves,)  
My fairest fair, my silver Swan is swimming:  
Against the sun his pruned feathers trimming▪  
Whilst Neptune his fair feet with water laves,  
Neptune, I fear not thee, not yet thine eye,  
And yet (alas) Apollo loved a boy,  
And Cyparissus was Silvanus' joy.  
No, no, I fear none but fair Thetis, I,  
For if she spy my Love, (alas) aye me,  
My mirth is turned to extreme misery.    

SONNET. VIII.  

Sometimes I wish that I his pillow were,  
So might I steal a kiss, and yet not seen,  
So might I gaze upon his sleeping eine,  
Although I did it with a panting fear:  
But when I well consider how vain my wish is,  
Ah foolish Bees (think I) that do not luck,  
His lips for honey; but poor flowers do pluck  
Which have no sweet in them: when his sole kisses,  
Are able to revive a dying soul.  
Kiss him, but sting him not, for if you do,  
His angry voice your flying will pursue:  
But when they hear his tongue, what can control,  
Their back▪ return? for than they plain may see,  
How hony-combs from his lips dropping be.    

SONNET. IX.  

Diana (on a time) walking the wood,  
To sport herself, of her fair train forlorn,  
Chanced for to prick her foot against a thorn,  
And from thence issued out a stream of blood.  
No sooner she was vanished out of sight,  
But loves fair Queen came there away by chance,  
And having of this hap a glym'ring glance,  
She put the blood into a crystal bright.  
When being now comen unto mount Rhodope,  
With her fair hands she forms a shape of Snow,  
And blends it with this blood; from whence doth grow  
A lovely creature, brighter than the Dey.  
And being christened in fair Paphos' shrine,  
She called him Ganymede: as all divine.    

SONNET. X.  

Thus was my love, thus was my Ganymed,  
(heavens joy, world's wonder, nature's fairest work,  
In whose aspect Hope and Despair do lurk)  
Made of pure blood in whitest snow yshed,  
And for sweet Venus only formed his face,  
And his each member delicately framed,  
And last of all fair ganymed him named,  
His limbs (as their Creatrix) her embrace.  
But as for his pure, spotless, virtuous mind,  
Because it sprung of chaste Diana's blood▪  
(Goddess of Maids, directress of all good,)  
Hit wholly is to chastity inclined.  
And thus it is: as far as I can prove,  
He loves to be beloved, but not to love,    

SONNET. XI.  

Sighing, and sadly sitting by my Love,  
He asked the cause of my hearts sorrowing▪  
Conjuring me by heavens eternal King  
To tell the cause which me so much did move.  
Compelled: (quoth I) to thee I will confess,  
Love is the cause; and only love it is  
That doth deprive me of my heavenly bliss.  
Love is the pain that doth my heart oppress.  
And what is she (quoth he) whom thou dost love?  
Look in this glass (quoth I) there shalt thou see  
The perfect for me of my felicity.  
When, thinking that it would strange Magic prove,  
He opened it: and taking off the cover,  
He strait perceived himself to be my Lover.    

SONNET. XII.  

Some talk of Ganymede th' Idalian Boy,  
And some offaire Adonis make their boast,  
Some talk of him whom lovely Lada lost,  
And some of echoes love that was so coy.  
They speak by hearsay, 1 of perfect truth,  
They partially commend the persons named,  
And for them, sweet Enconiums have framed:  
I only t'him have sacrificed my youth.  
As for those wonders of antiquity,  
And those whom later ages have enjoyed,  
(But ah what hath not cruel death destroyed?  
Death, that envies this world's felicity.)  
They were (perhaps) less fair than Poets writ,  
But he is fairer than I can indite.    

SONNET. XIII.  

Speak Echo, tell; how may I call my love? love.  
But how his Lamps that are so crystalline? Eyes.  
Oh happy starts that make your heavens divine:  
And happy gems that admiration move.  
How term'st his golden tresses waved with air? Hair.  
Oh lovely hair of your more-lovely Master,  
Image of love, fair shape of Alabaster,  
Why dost thou drive thy Lover to despair?  
How dost thou call the bed where beauty grows▪ Rose.  
Fair virgine-Rose, whose maiden blossoms cover  
The milk-white Lily, thy embracing Lover:  
Whose kisses makes thee oft thy red to lose.  
And blushing oft for shame when he hath kissed thee,  
He vades away, & thou raing'st where it list thee.    

SONNET. XIIII.  

Here; hold this glove (this milk-white cheveril glove)▪  
Not quaintly overwrought with curious knots,  
Nor decked with golden spangs, nor silver spots;  
Yet wholesome for thy hand as thou shalt prove.  
Ah no: (sweet boy) place this glove near thy heart,  
Wear it, and lodge it still within thy breast,  
So shalt thou make me (most unhappy,) blest▪  
So shalt thou rid my pain, and case my smart:  
How can that be (perhaps) thou wilt reply,  
A glove is for the hand▪ not for the heart,  
Nor can it well be proved by common art,  
Nor reasons rule. To this, thus answer I:  
If thou from glove dost take away the g,  
Then glove is love: and so I send it thee.    

SONNET. XV.  

A fairest Ganymede, disdain me not,  
Though silly Shepherd I, presume to love thee,  
Though my harsh songs & Sonnets cannot move thee,  
Yet to thy beauty is my love no blot.  
Apollo, jove, and many Gods, beside,  
S'daind not the name of country shepherds swains,  
Nor want we pleasure, though we take some pains,  
We live contentedly: a thing called pride,  
Which so corrupts the Court and every place,  
(Each place I mean where learning is neglected,  
And yet of late, even learning's self's infected)  
I know not what it means, in any case:  
We only (when Molorchus 'gins to peep)  
Learn for to fold, and to unfold our sheep.    

SONNET. XVI.  

Long have I longed to see my Love again,  
Still have I wished, but never could obtain it;  
Rather than all the world (if I might gain it)  
Would I desire my loves sweet precious gain.  
Yet in my soul I see him every day,  
See him, and see his still stern countenance▪  
But (ah) what is of long continuance,  
Where Majesty and Beauty bears the sway?  
Sometimes, when I imagine that I see him,  
(As love is full of foolish fantasies)  
Weening to kiss his lips, as my loves fee▪ s▪  
I feel but Air: nothing but Air to be him.  
Thus with Ixion, kiss I clouds in vain:  
Thus with Ixion, feel I endless pain.    

SONNET. XVII.  

Cherry-lipt Adonis in his snowy shape,  
Might not compare with his pure ivory white,  
On whose fair front a Poet's pen may write,  
Whose rosiate red excels the crimson grape,  
His love-enticing delicate soft limbs,  
Are rarely framed t'entrap poor gazing eyes:  
His cheeks, the Lily and Carnation dies,  
With lovely tincture which Apollo's dims.  
His lips ripe strawberries in Nectar wet,  
His mouth a Hive, his tongue a honeycomb,  
Where Muses (like Bees) make their mansion.  
His teeth pure Pearl in blushing Correll set,  
Oh how can such a body sinne-procuring,  
Be slow to love, and quick to hate, enduring▪    

SONNET. XVIII.  

Not Megabaetes, nor Cleonymus,  
(Of whom great Plutarck makes such mention,  
Praising their fair with rare invention)  
As Ganymede were half so beauteous.  
They only pleased the eyes of two great Kings,  
But all the world at my love stands amazed▪  
Nor one that on his Angel's face hath gazed▪  
But (ravished with delight) him Presents brings.  
Some weaning Lambs, and some a suckling Kid,  
Some Nuts, and filbeards, others Pears & Plums,  
Another with a milk-white Heifer comes;  
As lately aegon's man (Damaetas) did:  
But neither he, nor all the Nymphs beside,  
Can win my Ganymede; with them t'abide.    

SONNET. XIX.  

Ah no; nor I myself: though my pure love  
(Sweet Ganymede to thee hath still been pure,  
And even till my last gasp shall aye endure,  
Can ever thy obdurate beauty move:  
Then cease oh Goddess son (for sure thou art,  
A Goddess son that canst resist desire)  
Cease thy hard heart, and entertain loves fire,  
Within thy sacred breast: by Nature's art.  
And as I love thee more than any Creature,  
(Love thee, because thy beauty is divine;  
Love thee, because myself, my soul is thine;  
Wholly devoted to thy lovely feature)  
Even so of all the vowels, I and V,  
Are dearest unto me, as doth ensue.    

SONNET. XX.  

But now my Muse toiled with continual care,  
Gins to faint, and slack her former pace,  
Expecting favour from that heavenly grace,  
That may (in time) her feeble strength repair.  
Till when (sweet youth) th' essence of my soul,  
(Thou that dost sit and sing at my heart's grief.  
Thou that dost send thy shepherd no relief)  
Behold, these lines; the sons of Pears and Dole.  
Ah had great Colin chief of shepherds all,  
Or gentle Rowland, my professed friend,  
Had they thy beauty, or my penance penned,  
Greater had been thy fame, and less my fall:  
But since that every one cannot be witty,  
Pardon l crave of them, and of thee, pity.   
FINIS.   

AN ODE.  

Night's were short, and days were long;  
Blossoms on the Hauthorn's hung:  
Philomaele (Night-Music's King)  
Told the coming of the spring.  
Whose sweet silver-sounding voice  
Made the little birds rejoice:  
Skipping light from spray to spray,  
Till Aurora show'd the day.  
Scarce might one see, when I might see  
(For such chances sudden be)  
By a well of Marblestone,  
A Shepherd lying all alone.  
Weep he did; and his weeping  
Made the fading flowers spring.  
Daphnis was his name (I ween)  
Youngest Swain of Summers' Queen.  
When Aurora saw 'twas he.  
Weep she did for company▪  
Weep she did for her sweet son,  
That (when antic Troy was won)  
Suffered death by luckless fate,  
Whom she now laments too late:  
And each morning (by Cock's crew)  
Showers down her silver dew.  
Whose tears (falling from their spring)  
Give moisture to each living thing,  
That on earth increase and grow,  
Through power of their friendly foe.  
Whose effect when Flora felt,  
Tears, that did her bosom melt,  
(For who can resist tears often,  
But She whom no tears can soften?)  
Peering strait above the banks,  
show'd herself to give her thanks.  
Wondering thus at Nature's work,  
(Wherein many marvels lurk)  
Me thought I heard a doleful noise,  
Consorted with a mournful voice,  
Drawing nigh to hear more plain,  
Hear I did, unto my pain,  
(For who is not pained to hear  
Him in grief whom heart holds dear?)  
Silly swain (with grief overgo)  
Thus to make his piteous moan.  
Love I did, (alas the while)  
Love I did, but did beguile  
My dear love with loving so,  
(Whom as then I did not know.)  
Love I did the fairest boy,  
That these fields did ere enjoy.  
Love I did fair Ganymed;  
(Venus darling, beauty's bed:)  
Him I thought the fairest creature;  
Him the quintessence of Nature:  
But yet (alas) I was deceived,  
(Love of reason is bereaved)  
For since then I saw a Lass,  
(Lass) that did in beauty pass,  
(Pass) fair Ganymede as far  
As Phoebus doth the smallest star.  
love commanded me to love;  
Fancy bade me not remove  
My affection from the swain  
Whom I never could obtain:  
(For who can obtain that favour,  
Which he cannot grant the craver?)  
Love at last (though loath) prevailed;  
(Love) that so my heart assailed;  
Wounding me with her fair eyes,  
(Ah how Love can subtelize,  
And devise a thousand shifts,  
How to work men to his drifts)  
Her it is, for whom I mourn;  
Her, for whom my life I scorn;  
Her, for whom I weep all day;  
Her, for whom I sigh, and say,  
Either She▪ or else no creature,  
Shall enjoy my love: whose ceature  
Though I never can obtain,  
Yet shall my true love remain:  
Till (my body turned to clay)  
My poor soul must pass away,  
To the heavens; where (I hope)  
Hit shall find a resting scope:  
Then since I loved thee (alone)  
Remember me when I am gone.  
Scarce had he these last words spoken,  
But me thought his heart was broken;  
With great grief that did abound,  
(Cares and grief the heart confound)  
In whose heart (thus rived in three)  
ELIZA written I might see:  
In Characters of crimson blood,  
(Whose meaning well I understood.)  
Which, for my heart might not behold,  
I hied me home my sheep to fold.   
FINIS.   

CASSANDRA.  

Upon a gorgeous gold embossed bed,  
With Tissue curtains drawn against the sun,  
(Which gazers eyes into amazement led,  
So curiously the workmanship was done,)  
Lay fair Cassandra▪ in her snowy smock,  
Whose lips the Rubies and the pearls did lock.   

And from her ivory front hung dangling down,  
A bush of long and lovely curled hair;  
Whose head impaled with a precious Crown  
Of orient Pearl, made her to seem more fair:  
And yet more fair she hardly could be thought,  
Then Love and Nature in her face had wrought.   

By this young Phoetus rising from the East,  
Had ta'en a view of this rare Paragon:  
Wherewith he soon his radiant beams addressed,  
And with great joy her (sleeping) gazed upon:  
Till at the iast, through her bright cazements clear,  
He stole a kiss: and softly called her Dear.   

Yet not so softly but (therewith awaked,)  
She 'gins to open her fair christ all covers,  
Wherewith the wounded God, for terror quaked,  
(Viewing those darts that kill disdained lovers:)  
And blushing red to see himself so shamed  
He scorns his Coach, & his own beauty blamed.   

Now with a trice he leaves the azures' skies,  
(As whilom jove did at Europa's rape,)  
And ravished with her love-aluring eyes,  
He turns himself into a human shape:  
And that his wish the sooner might ensue,  
He suits himself like one of Venus' crew.   

Upon his head he wore a Hunter's hat,  
Of crimson velvet, spanged with stars of gold,  
Which graced his lovely face: and over that▪  
A silver hatband richly to behold:  
On his left shoulder hung a lose Tiara,  
As whilom used fair Penthesilea.   

Fair Penthesilea th' Amazonian Queen,  
When she to Troy came with her warlike band,  
Of brave Viragoes glorious to be seen;  
Whose manlike force no power might withstand:  
So looked Apollo in his lovely weeds,  
As he unto the I▪ roian Damsel speeds.   

Not fair Adonis in his chiefest pride,  
Did seem more fair, then young Apollo seemed,  
When he through th'▪ air invisibly did glide,  
T'obraine his Love, which he Angelic deemed:  
Whom finding in her chamber all alone,  
He thus gins t'express his pitcous moan.   

O fairest, fair, above all fairs (quoth he,)  
If ever Love obtained Lady's favour,  
Then show thyself compassionate to me,  
Whose heart surprised with thy divine behaviour,  
Yields myself captive to thy conquering eyes:  
Oh then show mercy, do not tyrannize.   

Scarce had Apollo uttered these last words,  
Raining down pearl from his immortal eyes,)  
When the for answer, nought but fear affords,  
Filling the place with lamentable cries:  
But Phoe bus fearing much these raging fits,  
With sugared kisses sweetly charmed her lips.   

And tell's her softly in her softer ear,)  
That he a God is, and no mortal creature:  
Where with abandoning all needless fear,  
(A common frailty of weak woman's nature)  
She boldly asks him of his deity,  
Gracing her question with her wanton eye.   

Which charge to him no sooner was assigned.  
But taking fair Cassandra by the hand  
(The ●●e bewrayer of his secret mind)  
He first gins to let her understand,  
That he from Demogorgon was deseended:  
Father ofth ' Earth, of Gods & men commended.   

The tenor of which tale he now recites,  
Closing each period with a ravished kisle:  
Which kindness, she unwillingly requites,  
Conjoining oft her Coral lips to his:  
Not that she loved the love of any one;  
But that she meant to cousin him anon.   

He briefly t'her relates his pedigree:  
The son of love, sole guider of the sun,  
He that slew Pychon so victoriously,  
He that the name of wisdoms God hath won,  
The God of Music, and of Poetry:  
Of Physic, Learning, and Chirurgery.   

All which he eloquently reckons up,  
That she might know how great a God he was:  
And being charmed with Cupid's golden cup  
He partially unto her praise doth pass,  
Calling her type of honour, Queen of beauty:  
To whom all eyes own tributary duty.   

I loved once, (quoth he) aye me I loved,  
As fair a shape as ever nature framed:  
Had she not been so hard t'have been removed,  
By birth a sea▪ Nymph; cruel Daphne named:  
Whom, for she would not to my will agree,  
The Gods transformed into a Laurel tree.   

Ah therefore be not, (with that word he kissed her)  
Be not (quot he) so proud as Daphne was:  
Ne care thou for the anger of my sister,  
She cannot, nay she shall not hurt my Cass:  
For if she do, I vow (by dreadful night)  
Never again to lend her of my light.   

This said: he sweetly doth embrace his love▪  
Yoking his arms about her ivory neck:  
And calls her wanton Venus milk-white Dove,  
Whose ruddy lips the damask roses deck.  
And ever as his tongue compiles her praise,  
Love dainty Dimples in her cheeks doth raise.   

And meaning now to work her stratagem  
Upon the silly God, that thinks none ill,  
She hugs him in her arms, and kisses him;  
Th' easilier to entice him to her will.)  
And being not able to maintain the field,  
Thus she gins (or rather seems) to yield.   

Won with thy words, and ravished with thy beauty▪  
Lo here Cassandra yields herself to thee,  
Requiring nothing for thy vowed duty,  
But only firmnesle, Love, and secrecy:  
Which for that now (even now) I mean to try thee  
A boon I crave: which thou canst not deny me.   

Scarce were these honywords breathed from her lips,  
But he, supposing that she meant good-faith▪  
Her filled tongues temptations interceps;  
And (like a Nonice,) thus to her he saith:  
Ask what thou wilt, and I will give it thee;  
Health, wealth, long life, wit, art, or dignity.   

Here-with she blushing red, (for shame did add  
A crimson tincture to her pa●●●● hue,)  
Seeming in outward semblance passing glad,  
As one that th' end of her petition knew)  
She makes him swear by ugly Acheron,  
That he his promise should perform anon.   

Which done: relying on his sacred oath,  
She asks of him the gift of prophecy:  
He (silent) gives consent: though seeming loath  
To grant so much to frail mortality:  
But since that he his vows ma●e not recall,  
He gives to her the sp'irite prophetical.   

But she no sooner had obtained her wish,  
When strait vnpr●s'ning her lascivious arms  
From his soft bosom (th'alvary of bliss)  
She chastely counterchecks loves hot alarms:  
And fearing left his presence might offend her,  
She slips aside: and (absent) doth defend her.  
(Multere ne credas, ne mortuae quidem.)   

Look how a brightsome Planet in the sky,  
(Spangling the Welkin with a golden spot)  
Shoots suddenly from the beholder's eye,  
And leaves him looking there where she is not:  
Even so amazed Phoebus (to descry her)  
Looks all about, but no where can espy her.   

Not th'hungry Lion, having lost his prey,  
With greater fury runneth through the wood,  
(Making no sign of momentary stay,  
Till he have satisfied himself with blood,)  
Then angry Phoe us mounts into the sky:  
Threatening the world with his hot-burning eye.   

Now nimbly to his glistering Coach he skips,  
And churlishly ascends his lofty chair,  
Jerking his head strong lads with iron whips,  
Whose fearful neighing echoes through the air,  
Snorting out fiery Sulphur from their nostrils:  
Whose deadly damp the world's poor people kills.   

Him leave me (for a while) amids the heavens,  
Wreaking his anger on his sturdy steeds:  
Whose speedful course the day & night now cevens,  
(The earth dis-robed of her summer weeds)  
And now black-mantled night with her brown vail,  
Covers each thing that all the world might quail.   

When lo, Cassandra lying at her rest,  
(Her rest were restless thoughts:) it so befell,  
Her mind with multitude of cares oppressed,  
Required some sleep her passions to expel:  
Which when sad Morpheus well did understand,  
He closed her cie-lids with his leaden hand.   

Now sleepeth she: and as she sleeps, behold;  
She seems to see the God whom late she wronged  
Standing before her; whose fierce looks unfold▪  
His hidden wrath (to whom instire belonged)  
Seeing, she fighs, and sighing quaked for fear,  
To see the shadow of her shame appear.   

Betwixt amaze and dread as she thus stands,  
The fearful vision drew more near unto her:  
And pynioning her arms in captive bands  
So sure, that mortal wight may not undo her,  
He with a bloody knife (oh cruel part,)  
With raging fury stabbed her to the heart.   

Herewith awaking from her slumbering sleep,  
(For fear, and care, are enemies to rest:)  
At such time as Aurora 'gins to peep  
And show herself; far orient in the East:  
She heard a voice which said: O wicked woman  
Why dost thou still the gods to vengeance summon   

Thou shalt (indeed) fore▪ tell of things to come;  
And truly too; (for why my vows are passed)  
But hear the end of jowes eternal doom:  
Because thy promise did so little last,  
Although thou tell the truth, (this gift I give thee)  
Yet for thy falsehood, no man shall believe thee.   

And (for thy sake) this penance I impose  
Upon the remnant of all woman kind,  
For that they be such truth professed foes;  
A constant woman shall be hard to find:  
And that all flesh at my dread name may tremble,  
When they weep most, them shall they most dissemble.   

This said Apollo then: And since that time  
His words have proved true as Oracles:  
Whose turning thoughts ambitiously do clime  
To heavens height; and world with lightness fill'st  
Whose sex are subject to inconstancy,  
As other creatures are to destiny.   

Yet famous Sabrine on thy banks dost rest  
The fairest Maid that ever world admired:  
Whose constant mind, with heavenly gifts possessed,  
Makes her rare self of all the world desired,  
In whose chaste thoughts no vanity doth enter;  
So pure a mind Endymion's Love hath lent her.   

Queen of my thoughts, but subject of my verse,  
(Divine Eliza) pardon my defect:  
Whose artless pen so rudely doth rehearse  
Thy beauty's worth; (for want of due respect)  
Oh pardon thou the fullies of my youth;  
Pardon my faith, my love, my zeal, my truth.   

But to Cassandra now: who having heard  
The cruel sentence of the threatening voice;  
At length (too late) gins to wax afeard,  
Lamenting much her unrepentant choice:  
And seeing her hard hap without relief,  
She sheeds salt tears in token of her grief.   

Which when Aurora saw, and saw 'twas she,  
Even she herself whose far-renowmed fame  
Made all the world to wonder at her beauty,  
It moved compassion in this ruthful Dame:  
And thinking on her Sons sad destiny.  
With mournful tears she bears her company.   

Great was the moan, which fair Cassandra made:  
Greater the kindness, which Aurora show'd:  
Whose sorrow with the sun began to fade;  
And her moist tears on th'earth's green grass bestowed:  
Kissing the flowers with her silver dew.  
Whose fading beauty, seemed her case to rue.   

Scarce was the lovely Eastern Queen departed,  
From stately Ilium; (whose proud-reared walls  
Seemed to control the clouds, till Vulcan darted  
Against their Towers his burning fier-bals)  
When sweet Cassandra (leaving her soft bed)  
In seemly sort herself appareled.   

And hearing that her honourable Sire,  
(Old princely Pryamus Troy's aged King)  
Was gone into Ioues Temple, to conspire  
Against the Greeks', (whom he to war did bring)  
She (like a Fury (in a bedlam rage,  
Runs gadding thither, his fell wrath t'assuage.   

But not prevailing: truly she foretold  
The fall of Troy, (with bold orected face:)  
They count her harebrained, mad, and over-hold,  
To press in presence in so grave a place:  
But in mean season Paris he is gone,  
To bring destruction on fair Ilium.   

What, ten-yeeres siege by force could not subvert,  
That, two false traitors in one night destroyed:  
Who richly guerdoned for their bad desert,  
Was of Aeneas but small time inio●'d:  
Who, for concealment of Achilles' love,  
Was banished; from Ilium to remove.   

King Priam's dead and all the Troyans' slain;  
(His sons, his friends and dear confederates)  
And lots now cast for captives that remain,  
(Whom Death hath spared for more cruel fates)  
Cassandra then to Agamemnon fell,  
With whom a Leman she disdained to dwell.   

She, weeps; he, woos; he, would, but she would not▪  
He, tell's his birth; she, pleads virginity:  
He saith, self pride doth rarest beauty blot:  
(And with that word he kissed her lovingly:)  
She, yeeldingly resists; he faires to die:  
She, falls for fear; he, on her fearlessly.   

But this brave general of all the Greeks',  
Was quickly foiled at a woman's hands,  
For who so rashly such in counters seeks,  
Of hard mishap in danger ever stands:  
Only chaste thoughts, and virtuous abstinence,  
'Gainst such sweet poison is the surest defence.   

But who can shun the force of beauty's blow?  
Who is not ravished with a lovely look?  
Graced with a wanton eye, (the hearts dumb show)  
Such fish are taken with a silver hook:  
And when true love cannot these pearls obtain,  
unguentum Album is the only mean.   

far be it from my thought (duinest Maid)  
To have relation to thy heavenly hue▪  
(In whose sweet voice the Muses are imbaid)  
No pen can paint thy commendations due:  
Save only that pen, which no pen can be,  
An Angel's quill, to make a pen for thee.   

But to return to these unhappy Lovers,  
(Sleeping securely in each others arms,)  
Whose sugared joys nights sable mantle covers,  
Little regarding their ensuing harms:  
Which afterward they jointhe both repent:  
" Fate is foreseen, but never is prevented.   

Which saying to be true, this luckless Dame  
Approved in the sequel of her story:  
Now waxing pale, now blushing red (for shame)  
She seals her lips with silence, (women's glory)  
Till, Agamemnon urging her replies,  
Thus of his death she truly prophecies.   

The day shall come, (quoth she) o dismal day!  
When thou by false Aegistus shalt be slain:  
Hear could she tell no more; but made a stay.  
(From further speech as willing to refrain:)  
Not knowing then, nor little did she think,  
That she with him of that same cup must drink.   

But what? (fond man) he laughs her skill to scorn,  
And icsteth at her divination:  
Ah to what unbelief are Princes borne?  
(The only overthrow of many a Nation:)  
And so it did befall this luckless Prince,  
Whom all the world hath much lamented since:   

Instead of tears, he smileth at hertale:  
Instead of grief, he makes great show of gladness:  
But after bliss, there ever follows bale;  
And after mirth, there alwaiys cometh sadness:  
But gladness, bliss, and mirth had so possessed him,  
That sadness, bale, & grief, could not molest him.   

Oh cruel Parcoe (quoth Cassandra then)  
Why are you Parce, yet not moved with prayer?  
Oh small security of mortal men,  
That live on earth, and breath this vital air▪  
When we laugh most, then are we next to sorrow;  
The Birds feed us to day, we them to morrow.   

But if the first did little move his mind,  
Her later speeches less with him prevailed;  
Who being wholly bend to self-will inclined,  
deems her weak brain with lunacy assailed:  
And still the more she counsel him to stay,  
The more he striveth to make haste away.   

How on the Seas he seaped storms, rocks & shoals,  
(Seas that envied the conquest he had won,  
Gaping like hell to swallow Greekish souls,)  
I here omit; only suppose it done:  
His storm-tyrde Bark safely brings him to shore,  
His whole Fleet else, or sunk or lost before.   

Lift up thy head, thou ashie-cyndred Troy,  
See the commander of thy traitor foes,  
That made thy last night's woe, his first days joy,  
Now 'gins his night of joy and day of wees:  
His fall be thy d light, thine was his pride:  
As he thee then, so now thou him deride.   

He and Cassandra now are set on shore,  
Which he salutes with joy, she greets with tears,  
couriers are sent that post to Court before,  
Whose tidings hll ●h'adultrous Queen with fears,  
Who with Aegistus in a lost stained bed,  
Herself, her King, her state dishonoured.   

She wakes the lecher with a loud-straind shriek,  
Love-toys they leave, now doth loment begin:  
I'll fly (quoth he) our she doth that mislike,  
Gild unto guilt, and sin she add to sin:  
She means to kill (immodest love to cover)  
A kingly husband, for a caitiff lover.   

The people's joys, conceived at his return,  
Their thronging multitudes: their gladsome cries,  
Their gleeful hymns, whiles piles of incense burn:  
Their public shows, kept at solemnities:  
We pass: and tell how King & Queen did meet,  
Where he with zeal, she him with guile did greet.   

He (noble Lord) fearless of hidden treason,  
Sweetly salutes this weeping Crocodile:  
Excusing every cause with instant reason  
That kept him from her sight so long a while:  
She, faintly pardons him: smiling by Art:  
(For life was in her looks, death in her heart.)   

For pledge that I am pleased receive (quoth she,)  
This rich wrought rob, thy clytemnestra's toil:  
Her ten years work this day shall honour thee,  
For ten years war, and one days glorious spoil:  
Whilst thou contendedst there, I here did this:  
Wear it my love, my life, my joy, my bliss,   

Searce had the Siren said, what I have writ,  
But he (kind Prince) by her mild words misled,  
Received the rob, to try if it were fit;  
(The rob) that had no issue for his head:  
Which, whilst he vainly hoped to have found,  
aegista's pierced him with a mortal wound.   

Oh how the Trojan Damsel was amazed,  
To see so fell and bloody a Tragedy,  
Performed in one Act: she nought but gazed,  
Upon the picture; whom she dead did see,  
Before her face: whose body she emballms,  
With brennish tears, and sudden deadly qualms.   

Feign would she have fled back on her swift horse,  
But Clytaemnestra bade her be content,  
Her time was come: now bootless used she force,  
Against so many; whom this Tigress sent  
To apprehene her: who (within one hour  
Brought back again) was locked within a Tower.   

Now is she joyless, friendless, and (in fine)  
Without all hope of further liberty:  
In steed of cates, cold water was her wine,  
And Agamemnon's corpse her meat must be,  
Or else she must for hunger starve (poor sole)  
What could she do but make great moan & dole.   

So dark the dungeon was, wherein she was,  
That neither Sun (by day) nor Moon (by night)  
Did show themselves: and thus it came to pass.  
The Sun denied to lend his glorious light  
To such a perjured wight, or to be seen;  
(What need she light, that overlight had been?   

Now silent night drew on: when all things sleep,  
Save thieves, & cares: & now still midnight came:  
When sad Cassandra did nought else but weep;  
Oft calling on her Agamemnon's name.  
But seeing that the dead did not reply,  
Thus she gins to mourn, lament, and cry.   

Oh cruel Fortune, (mother of despair,)  
Well art thou christened with a cruel name:  
Since thou regardest not the wise, or fair,  
But dost bestow thy riches (to thy shame)  
On fools & lowly swains, that care not for thee▪  
And yet I weep, and yet thou dost abhor me,   

Fie on ambition, fie on filthy pride,  
The root of ill, the cause of all my woe:  
On whose frail ye my youth first slipped aside:  
And falling down▪ received a fatal blow.  
Ah who hath lived to see such misery  
As I have done, and yet I cannot die?   

I lived (quoth she) to see Troy set a fire:  
I lived to see, renowned Hector slain:  
I lived to see, the shame of my desire:  
And yet I live, to feel more grievous pain:  
Let all young maids example take by me,  
To keep their oaths, and spotless chastity,   

Happy are they, that never lived to know  
What 'tis to live in this world happily:  
Happy are they which never yet felt woe:  
Happy are they, that die in infancy:  
Whose sins are canceled in their mother's womb:  
Whose cradle is their grave, whose lap their tomb.   

Here ended she: & then her tears began,  
That (Chorus-like) at every word down reigned,  
Which like a pair of crystal fountains ran,  
A long her lovely cheeks: with roses stained:  
Which as they whither still (for want of rain)  
Those silver showers water them again.   

Now had the poor-man's clock (shrili chauntcleare)  
Twice given notice of the Morn's approach,  
(That then began in glory to appear,  
Drawn in her stately coloured saffron-Coach)  
When she (poor Lady) almost turned to tears,  
Began to tear and rend her golden hairs.   

Lie there (quoth she) the workers of my woes;  
You trifling toys, which my lives stain have been▪  
You, by whose means our coins chief grows,  
Clothing the back with pride, the soul with sin:  
Lie there (quoth she) the causers of my care;  
This said, her robes she all in pieces tore.   

Here-with, as weary of her wretched life,  
(Which she enjoyed with small felicity)  
Thee ends her fortune with a fatal knife;  
(First day of joy, last day of misery:)  
Then why is death accounted Nature's foe,  
Since death (indeed) is but the end of woe?   

For as by death, her body was released  
From that strong prison made of lime and stone;  
Even so by death her purest soul was cased,  
From body's prison, and from endless moan:  
Where now she walks in sweet Elysium,  
(The place for wrongful Death and Martirdum.)   
FINIS.